LIGE  MOUNTS 


RAPPER 


Frank  B. 
Linderman 


OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 
OF 


BY  FRANK  B.  LINDERMAN 

LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

Illustrated  by  Joe  de  Long 

INDIAN  WHY  STORIES 

Sparks  from  War  Eagle's  Lodge-Fire 

Illustrated  by  C.  M.  Russell 

INDIAN  OLD-MAN  STORIES 

More  Sparks  from  War  Eagle's  Lodge-Fire 
Illustrated  by  C.  M.  Russell 

HOW  IT  CAME  ABOUT  STORIES 

Illustrated  by  Carle  Michel  Boog 


BUNCH-GRASS  AND  BLUE- JOINT 

ON  A  PASSING  FRONTIER 
Sketches  from  the  Northwest 


CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


LIGE  MOUNTS:   FREE  TRAPPER 


There  never  was  another  such  a  morning 


[Page  150 


\     I 


LIGE   MOUNTS: 
FREE  TRAPPER 


BY 

FRANK  B.  LINDERMAN 


WITH    ILLUSTRATIONS   BY   JOE   DE   YONG 


NEW  YORK 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


COPYRIGHT,  1922,  BY 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 

Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


TO  MY  DAUGHTER 

VERNE 

WHO  INSISTED  THAT 

LIGE   MOUNTS 
TELL  HIS  OWN  STORY 


M627144 


FOREWORD 

I  came  to  Montana  Territory  when  I  was  a  boy. 
The  country  was  wild,  and  essentially  a  land  of 
youth.  Men  referred  to  as  "old  Bill"  or  "old 
Hank"  were  often  in  their  prime,  and  proud  of 
their  strength  and  fitness.  Their  ways  were  those 
of  a  wilderness  unspoiled,  and  primitiveness  tradi- 
tional, a  proof  of  character.  An  extra  blanket  or 
frying-pan  in  their  meagre  packs  was  disgraceful, 
and  in  the  eyes  of  his  fellows  lessened  the  possessor's 
worth  as  a  "good  man."  The  life  they  led  fasci- 
nated me,  and  I  became  a  trapper  with  them,  my 
partner  being  a  man  who  had  grown  gray  in  the 
wilderness.  He  felt  a  pride  in  owning  a  fast  horse,  a 
dead-centre  rifle,  the  shortest  camp-equipment,  and 
the  scantiest  bed-roll  in  the  Territory;  and  nothing 
stirred  him  as  did  the  sight  of  a  fence.  I  shall 
never  forget  his  displeasure  and  chagrin  when  he 
learned  that  Montana  had  ceased  to  be  a  Territory 
and  had  become  a  State  in  the  Union.  "Now  she's 
gone  to  hell  for  keeps,"  he  sighed.  And  I  believed 
him. 

He  knew  the  ways  of  the  Indian,  and  through 
him  I  became  the  Indian's  friend,  learning  more 
than  he  had  known  of  their  customs  and  beliefs;  al- 
though after  so  many  years  of  acquaintance  the 
Indian  remains  to  me  still  a  man  of  mystery. 

In  this  book  I  have  sought  to  tell  of  life  in  the 
very  early  days  of  the  fur  trade  on  the  upper  Mis- 
souri River,  and  to  show  something  of  the  real  cus- 
toms of  both  the  white  and  red  men  who  lived  on 

vii 


viii  FOREWORD 

the  plains.  I  am  indebted  to  Captain  H.  M.  Chit- 
tenden's  " History  of  the  American  Fur  Trade"  for 
many  historical  facts,  especially  for  the  details  of 
the  quarrel  between  the  partners,  Fink,  Talbot,  and 
Carpenter.  The  words  of  the  voyageur's  song  and 
the  " Notice  to  Enterprising  Young  Men"  have  been 
taken  from  that  work  verbatim. 

For  proof  that  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company  prac- 
tised questionable  methods  in  dealing  with  com- 
petitors, I  refer  the  reader  to  the  "Journals  of  Cap- 
tain Palliser"  (1857),  and  to  "Three  Years  Among 
the  Mexicans  and  Indians,"  by  General  Thomas 
James  (1846). 

In  order  to  give  the  reader  an  idea  of  the  dignity 
with  which  the  old-tune  Indian  conversed,  I  have 
assumed  that  in  speaking  the  Cree  language,  which 
he  had  learned  perfectly,  or  in  translating  conver- 
sations from  the  Cree,  Lige  Mounts  used  nearly 
perfect  English. 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

There  never  was  another  such  a  morning     .     .     .  Frontispiece 

FACING    PAGE 

I  yelled  with  the  rest  and  rode  inside 102 

Out  on  a  knoll-top  under  the  stars  Mac  began  to  sing 

Cree  164 


LIGE  MOUNTS:   FREE  TRAPPER 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 
CHAPTER  I 

I  don't  remember  much  about  my  parents.  They 
both  died  when  I  was  little.  My  mother  died  first ; 
but  I  was  so  young  I  don't  remember  her  at  all. 
Then  when  I  was  six  years  old  my  father  was 
struck  by  lightning.  I  remember  that,  and  how 
scared  I  was  when  the  men  packed  him  in  out  of 
the  dark  woods  and  the  rain.  The  men  was  drip- 
ping wet — so  wet  the  water  from  their  boots  left 
blotches  on  the  puncheon  floor  between  the  door  and 
the  bed  where  they  laid  father.  And  where  Lafe 
Daws  stood,  near  the  foot  of  the  bed,  his  clothes 
dripped  a  regular  puddle  that  ran  through  the 
cracks  in  the  floor.  I  remember  I  thought  it  would 
be  fine  to  be  as  wet  as  that. 

Lafe  Daws  said,  "He's  done  for,  I  reckon,"  and 
when  he  moved  a  little,  another  puddle  begun  to 
grow  about  his  boots.  Then  the  lightning  flashed 
right  with  an  awful  clap  of  thunder,  and  Lafe  Daws 
dodged  like  somebody  had  struck  at  him;  and  I 
crawled  under  the  bed.  My!  how  the  rain  poured 
down !  And  how  dark  it  was  in  the  house !  I  cried 
from  fright.  But  whenever  there  was  a  flash  of 
lightning,  and  that  was  right  often,  I  could  see  the 
big  boots  and  the  puddles  through  my  tears. 

I  was  under  the  bed  when  Aunt  Lib  came.  She 
was  my  mother's  sister.  And  that  night  I  went  to 
live  with  her  and  Uncle  Eldin  Muzzey.  I  slept  with 
my  cousin  Eben,  who  was  only  four  years  old ;  and 
all  night  he  laid  crosswise  of  the  bed;  and  the 

1 


2  LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

neighbors  was  coming  and  going  between  our  house 
and  Aunt  Lib's. 

The  next  morning  I  saw  our  clock  and  a  candle- 
stick and  a  picture  piled  on  Aunt  Lib's  table  in  her 
house.  "Them's  ours,"  I  told  her,  right  scornful, 
I  reckon.  But  she  only  sighed,  and  kissed  me  on 
the  cheek.  "Yes,"  she  said,  "they're  ours — yers 
and  mine,  for  ye're  goin'  to  be  my  little  boy  now." 

That  was  in  Kentucky ;  but  the  next  spring  Uncle 
Eldin  and  Aunt  Lib  moved  west,  and  I  went  along 
with  them. 

I  don't  remember  much  of  the  journey,  nor  how 
long  it  took  us  to  reach  Coon  Creek,  where  Uncle 
Eldin  took  up  land  and  settled.  It  was  fall  before 
we  got  moved  into  the  cabin,  which  was  built  about 
thirty  yards  from  the  creek;  and  winter  come  on  by 
the  time  a  decent  patch  of  land  had  been  cleared 
for  a  garden  in  the  spring. 

The  cabin  wa'n't  much,  but  Uncle  Eldin  said  it 
would  have  to  do  for  a  spell;  and  right  away  Aunt 
Lib  begun  to  plan  on  the  new  house.  She  used  to 
talk  a  heap  about  it  at  first,  and  I  reckon  she  ac- 
tually lived  in  it,  too.  And  it  done  her  good,  mebby, 
but  it  didn't  last.  She'd  slave  to  lay  by  a  little  to- 
wards it,  always  talking  about  the  raising  and  the 
neighbors  that  would  be  on  hand  to  he'p  when  the 
time  come;  but  strive  as  she  might,  poverty  hov- 
ered about  us  like  a  shadow,  and  whenever  her  sav- 
ings had  growed  to  a  worth-while,  something  she'd 
never  thought  of  would  romp  in  and  carry  them  off 
long  'fore  the  amount  was  big  enough  to  warrant 
even  a  beginning.  And  the  children  kept  coming, 
too;  so  that  when  I  was  eleven  there  was  six,  the 
oldest  nine  years;  and  them  having  to  be  fed  and 
clothed  made  it  all  the  harder  to  save.  Aunt  Lib's 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER  3 

savings  jar  was  mighty  nigh  always  empty  now, 
and  at  last  she  give  up  ever  having  a  new  house. 

The  vines,  as  if  to  make  it  up  to  her,  kept  grow- 
ing higher  and  higher  over  the  little  porch  we'd 
added  to  the  old  cabin ;  and  each  fall  when  the  hick- 
ory leaves  turned  yellow  Uncle  Eldin  or  me  re- 
daubed  the  cracks  between  the  rough  logs  to  make 
the  place  snug  for  winter. 

Nobody  worked  harder  than  Uncle  Eldin.  I 
he'ped  him  all  I  could  from  the  beginning,  and  we'd 
cleared  quite  a  piece  by  the  time  I  was  twelve — 
cleared  and  fenced  it,  so  that  there  was  always  crop 
enough,  but  no  money.  Each  year  we  added  to  the 
clearing,  too,  pushing  back  the  timber  and  grub- 
bing and  plowing  from  daylight  to  plumb  dark,  just 
him  and  me. 

There  was  a  grist-mill  at  Coon  Creek  Crossing*, 
and  a  store  and  a  blacksmith  shop,  and  quite  a  vil- 
lage besides.  Then  there  was  the  church  where  we 
come  sometimes  of  Sundays  to  hear  Joshua  Moulds, 
the  circuit  rider,  preach.  I  never  let  Aunt  Lib 
know — but  I  never  liked  to  go,  myse'f ,  because  it 
seemed  like  Joshua  Moulds  never  let  people  go  home 
happy  if  he  could  he'p  it.  I'd  heered  him  say  God 
was  love  more'n  once,  but  he  never  preached  about 
that — only  hell-fire  and  damnation.  It  seemed  right 
queer  that  Moulds  didn't  preach  more  about  good 
things  and  let  the  bad  rest  up.  But  he  never  did. 

Coon  Creek  Crossing  was  four  miles  from  our 
place;  and  when  I  was  eleven  Mrs.  Hawkins' 
brother  come  there  from  Virginia.  His  name  was 
Abner  Hastings,  and  he  was  a  schoolmaster.  Right 
away  Aunt  Lib  got  me  ready  to  go  to  school.  That 
winter  and  the  next  I  walked  'most  every  day  to 
the  Crossing,  as  we  called  it,  and  went  to  school 


4  LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

there  with  some  other  boys  and  girls.  The  oldest 
was  nigh  to  twenty  and  I  was  the  youngest  of  the 
lot. 

Abner  Hastings  was  a  good  man,  and  I  liked  him 
from  the  start.  He  was  tall  and  thin  and  had  a 
mighty  bad  cough  that  used  to  nigh  wear  him  out 
at  times.  Folks  said  he  had  lung  trouble,  and  I 
reckon  he  had.  But  he  liked  birds  an^  flowers,  and 
that  made  me  and  him  right  friendly.  It  was  him 
that  gave  me  Biddle's  book  about  Captain  Lewis 
and  Captain  Clark  and  their  trip  up  the  Missouri 
river. 

I  read  it  through  at  least  a  dozen  times  till  I 
knowed  it  'most  by  heart.  Aunt  Lib  read  it  too, 
but  she  said  it  was  trash,  mostly,  and  lies  that  a  boy 
never  ought  to  read.  It  fretted  her  so,  I  took  the 
book  back  to  Abner  Hastings  after  a  while;  and  he 
was  glad  to  get  it,  I  reckon,  for  books  was  mighty 
scarce. 

Just  above  us  on  Coon  Creek  about  three  miles 
was  the  Byers'  place.  "The  Plantation,"  we  called 
it.  Nobody  liked  Caley  Byers  very  well,  and  no- 
body knowed  much  about  him  or  his  family.  They 
had  a  passel  of  slaves  and  come  from  further  south, 
folks  said,  and  I  reckon  that  was  true.  But  none 
of  the  Byerses  ever  talked  about  their  past  or  the 
place  they  come  from  to  anybody,  far  as  I  know. 
They  considered  themse'fs  real  quality-folks,  and 
mebby  they  was.  But  nobody  ever  come  to  the 
plantation  to  visit  a  spell  from  further  south,  nor 
the  Byerses  folks  didn't  go  away  from  Coon  Creek. 
That  was  talked  about  some,  for  most  folks  hold  a 
hankering  for  old  friends  and  old  home-places ;  but 
Caley  Byers  didn't  seem  to  have  any.  Leastways 
he  never  showed  it  if  he  did.  Some  folks  even 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER  5 

hinted  there  was  reasons  why  the  Byerses  never 
had  no  visitors  nor  went  back  to  their  old  home. 
There  was  a  yarn  that  was  supposed  to  have  been 
told  by  an  old  slave  that  died  on  the  Plantation 
quite  a  time  before  we  come  to  live  on  Coon  Creek. 
And  there  was  a  woman  in  it,  of  course.  But  long 
before  I  left,  the  garbled  story  was  plumb  wore  out, 
and,  as  nothing  had  been  added  to  it  since  the  old 
nigger  died,  it  wa'n't  far  from  being  dead  itse'f. 
The  other  slaves  never  talked  nor  told  anything, 
if  they  had  anything  to  tell.  But  nobody  liked 
Caley  Byers.  And  I  didn't.  I  had  my  own  rea- 
sons— not  borrowed  ones  either. 

A  little  more'n  half  way  between  our  place  and 
Coon  Creek  Crossing  there  was  a  small  cleared 
piece  that  folks  called  Dan's  Clearing.  Nobody 
knowed  who  Dan  had  been;  and  only  a  deserted 
cabin  with  a  broken  door  was  left  to  prove  there 
ever  was  such  a  man  as  Dan.  I  used  to  like  to  go 
there,  and  once  I  found  an  old  bullet-mould  in  the 
fireplace  of  the  rickety  cabin.  I  prized  my  find 
above  everything  I  possessed,  which  wa'n't  much. 

There  was  a  trail  that  followed  along  Coon  Creek 
clean  to  the  Crossing  and  beyond.  It  mighty  sel- 
dom left  the  stream  and  even  crossed  it  several 
times  where  the  way  was  bad,  just  to  get  to  stay 
by  it,  I  reckon.  It  was  longer  than  the  wagon  road, 
quite  a  little,  but  when  I  went  to  the  Crossing  afoot, 
which  I  mostly  did,  I  took  the  Coon  Creek  trail  be- 
cause I  liked  it  better  than  the  stumpy  wagon  road. 
It  was  an  old  deer  trail  and  wa'n't  made  by  men 
nor  laid  out  to  save  time. 

There  was  a  bad  place  on  the  trail,  made  by  a 
swamp  fed  from  springs  at  the  head  of  Dan's  Clear- 
ing; and  there  the  old  deer-trail,  using  the  swamp 


6  LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

as  an  excuse,  turned  sharp  and  cut  straight  across 
the  cleared  piece.  Somebody  had  cut  a  big  tree  and 
layed  a  log  on  the  lower  side  at  the  bad  place,  and 
while  that  he'ped  some,  it  made  the  trail  mighty 
narrow  for  the  length  of  the  log. 

One  day  I  was  coming  home  from  school,  afoot,  of 
course,  and  I  had  Jeff  Hawkins*  spelling  book  under 
my  arm.  Just  as  I  got  to  the  bad  place  in  the  trail, 
here  come  Caley  Byers  a-hoss-back,  and  he  made 
out  like  he  didn't  see  me ;  but  I  saw  him  see  me 
when  he  made  the  sharp  turn.  I  turned  out  as  far 
as  I  could  without  stepping  off  into  the  creek  to  let 
him  by,  but  just  at  the  narrowest  place  he  pulled 
his  hoss  over  sudden,  and  crowded  me  into  the 
water.  Crackey!  but  I  was  mad.  I  picked  up  a 
stone  and  let  him  have  it.  It  hit  him  in  the  back 
and  he  turned  and  come  at  me.  But  I  was  in  the 
creek,  and  I  rocked  him  good  and  plenty  till  he  quit. 
He  didn't  speak  to  me,  nor  I  to  him.  I  just  pegged 
him  good  and  he  rode  off.  He  never  did  tell  it;  nor 
neither  did  I.  Most  likely  he  was  ashamed  to.  But 
I  got  water  on  Jeff  Hawkins'  spelling  book  and  give 
him  my  bullet-mould  to  make  it  up  to  him,  though 
I  didn't  reckon  he  cared  much  about  the  book.  I 
never  had  liked  Caley  Byers,  because  other  folks 
didn't;  but  now  I  hated  him  on  my  own  account. 

I  don't  know  if  it  was  that  Biddle's  book,  but 
from  the  time  I  went  to  school  to  Abner  Hastings  I 
begun  to  wish  I  was  a  man,  and  I  wished  it  hard. 
I  only  went  part  of  two  seasons,  for  Abner  Hast- 
ings died.  And  then  I  wished  I'd  kept  the  Biddle 
book  more'n  ever. 

I  growed  pretty  fast.  Hard  work  didn't  hurt 
me;  and  when  I  was  eighteen  I  was  right  close  to 
six  feet  and  about  as  thick's  your  finger,  though 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER  7 

straight,  I  reckon,  as  anybody.  But  I  knowed  I 
looked  a  heap  older'n  I  was.  One  winter  I  split 
rails  for  Mr.  Hawkins  at  the  crossing  and  earned  a 
rifle.  It  was  brand  new  and  though  I  didn't  call  it 
mine,  exactly,  I  was  mighty  proud  of  it.  I  fetched 
it  home,  and  Uncle  Eldin  used  it  as  much  as  I  did; 
but  I  always  had  turned  whatever  I  could  earn  to 
Aunt  Lib ;  and  so  Uncle  Eldin  reckoned  the  weapon 
Was  part  his,  and  it  was.  He  had  a  rifle,  but  it 
wa'n't  half  the  gun  that  the  new  one  was.  And  so 
his  didn't  get  much  use  or  attention.  I  tell  you,  I 
was  proud  of  that  rifle,  and  every  flint  I  had  was  a 
picked  one.  I  reckon  I  found  more  pleasure  in  run- 
ning bullets  for  that  gun  than  in  any  other  thing — 
that  and  reading  a  newspaper  Mr.  Hawkins  give 
me  at  the  Crossing  once  when  I  went  there  with  a 
grist  of  corn. 

The  paper  was  a  copy  of  the  Missouri  Gazette, 
and  it  had  a  story  in  it  about  a  bad  fight  General 
Ashley  had  with  the  Arickara  Indians  'way  up  the 
river.  I  fetched  the  paper  home  and  hid  it  in  a 
box  under  the  bed.  I  was  ashamed  to  hide  it;  but 
everything  about  Indians  fretted  Aunt  Lib,  and  so 
I  hid  it.  I  bet  I  knowed  that  story  by  heart  before 
Aunt  Lib  found  the  paper.  She  give  it  back,  scold- 
ing a  little  about  lies  and  foolish  boys.  She  wa'n't 
very  big — not  up  to  my  shoulder  then — but  she 
thought  she'd  ought  to  scold  me,  I  reckon.  Many  a 
night  after  they  was  all  asleep  I  lit  a  tallow  dip  and 
re-read  that  story — not  because  I  needed  to,  but  be- 
cause I  was  glad  I  had  it  and  could  read. 

My  cousin  Eben  was  most  as  big  as  I  was  now, 
and  strong  as  an  ox.  And  Charles,  too,  had  growed 
to  be  a  big  stout  boy.  Besides,  the  girls  could  he'p 
Aunt  Lib  a  lot.  And  I  begun  to  figure  I  wa'n't 


8  LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

needed  much  and  that  mine  was  another  mouth  to 
feed.  I'd  set  sometimes  in  Dan's  Clearing  on  the 
way  to  the  mill  and  wonder  if  the  wild  country 
would  all  be  gone  before  I  got  to  see  it.  I  had  spoke 
about  me  doing  something  for  myse'f  a  heap  of 
times,  but  Aunt  Lib  always  made  a  fuss  when  I 
did.  "The  place  is  plenty  big  enough,  Lige,"  she'd 
say,  "an*  ye're  too  young  yit."  Or,  "Ye  been  readin' 
more  of  that  trash  in  that  paper.  I  wished  you'd 
never  fetched  it  home." 

I  didn't  like  to  fret  her,  but  I  did  wa*nt  to  start 
out  for  myse'f  and  mebby  he'p  her  and  Uncle  Eldin 
in  the  end.  I  couldn't  see  any  chance  to  he'p  them 
where  I  was;  and  every  time  I  dreamed  of  doing 
for  myse'f  it  had  to  do  with  making  up  to  Aunt  Lib 
and  Uncle  Eldin  for  being  good  to  me.  But  'twa'n't 
no  use  to  talk  to  Aunt  Lib  about  it. 

One  day  I  was  plowing  corn.  It  was  June  and 
the  air  was  still,  and  sweet  with  the  breath  of  grow- 
ing things  in  the  sunshine.  Bees  hummed  straight 
across  the  field  to  Aunt  Lib's  hive  behind  the  house, 
plumb  loaded  down  with  the  sweet  of  flowers.  And 
the  perfume  from  the  big  lilac  bush  by  the  gate 
come  clear  over  to  where  I  was  at  work.  Every 
live  thing  was  happy,  and  busy  too,  either  working 
or  playing.  If  old  Becky  hadn't  knowed  her  busi- 
ness I'd  sure  plowed  up  the  corn  watching  things 
that  was  glad  they  was  alive.  I  remember  two 
gray  squirrels  chasing  each  other  up  one  tree  and 
down  another,  chattering  and  blackguarding  awful. 
Finally  they  come  tearing  across  the  field,  so  blind 
in  their  play  that  they  run  plumb  under  Becky  and 
over  into  the  yard  where  the  hounds  was  sleeping. 
Then  one  of  them  climbed  the  big  shag-bark  hickory 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER  9 

near  the  house  and  begun  to  bark  at  the  dogs,  qua- 
qua-quaa !  like  he  wanted  to  drive  them  away.  The 
other  squirrel  wa'n't  so  brash,  and  I  don't  know 
where  he  went.  The  fellow  in  the  tree  scolded  and 
barked  quite  a  while,  but  the  dogs  didn't  wake  or 
notice.  I  had  just  turned  old  Becky  at  the  end  of 
a  row — or  she  turned  herse'f ;  and  as  I  caught  the 
flash  of  Aunt  Lib's  red  peonies  in  the  yard,  I  heered 
the  gate  creak  on  its  wooden  hinges.  That  set  off 
both  the  dogs.  Bristling  and  barking  like  hounds 
can,  they  made  a  rush  for  the  gate,  where  I  saw 
Caley  Byers  getting  down  off  his  hoss.  Then  Aunt 
Lib  run  out  of  the  house.  "You  Bugle !  come  back 
yer !  Bing !  Bing !  Back  with  ye !"  she  called,  and 
ran  down  towards  the  gate  to  meet  Byers,  wiping 
her  hands  on  her  apron  as  she  went. 

Both  hounds  was  friendly,  but  any  good  hound 
will  bark.  I  saw  that  Caley  Byers  was  squared 
off  to  meet  them  and  was  looking  ornery;  although 
Bugle  was  wagging  his  tail,  and  neither  him  nor 
Bing  was  bristled  then.  Bugle  was  a  cripple.  He 
only  had  three  legs,  having  lost  one  in  a  trap  when 
he  was  a  pup.  He  was  my  dog,  and  was  friendly 
to  everybody.  He  tried  to  welcome  Byers  in  good 
earnest  now;  but  the  ornery  trash  kicked  him,  and 
he  went  yelping  back  to  the  house.  I  didn't  hear 
what  Byers  was  saying  to  Aunt  Lib;  but  when  he 
kicked  Bugle  that  way  for  nothing  like  he  did,  all 
my  old  dislike  for  the  man  come  loping  back,  and  I 
was  mad  clean  through.  I  wrapped  the  lines 
around  the  plow-handles  and  went  down  there. 

I  reckon  I  was  expected  anyway,  for  Aunt  Lib 
with  her  hand  shading  her  eyes  was  watching  me. 
And  so  was  Caley  Byers. 

He  didn't  wait  for  me  to  say  a  'howdy/  but 


10         LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

pitched  right  in.  "I  want  you  to  keep  your  damned 
hawgs  off  my  place,"  he  says,  lashing  his  boots  with 
a  riding  whip.  I  wa'n't  within  decent  talking  dis- 
tance even.  His  chin  was  stuck  out  ornery-like, 
and  there  was  a  sneer  on  his  face  that  would  have 
kept  a  kitten  away  from  milk. 

"Hear  me?"  he  says,  louder'n  ever. 

All  the  meanness  in  me  come  a-surging  up  and  I 
could  feel  my  hair  prickle  with  it.  But  I  hobbled 
it  quick. 

"Yes,  sir,"  I  says.  "I  hear  you  right  plain.  But 
when  did  our  hawgs  bother  you?" 

"Bother  me!"  he  bellered.  "Bother  me!  Why, 
last  night  and  every  night.  I  won't  put  up  with  it 
another  minute.  I'll  have  them  killed,  every  damn- 
ed one." 

"Well,"  I  says,  "kill  all  the  hawgs  you've  a  mind 
to  for  all  o*  me,  'cause  our  hawgs  ain't  bothered  you 
none.  All  we  got  is  a  sow  an'  seven  pigs  a  week 
old.  I  don't  reckon  they're  able  to  travel  so  far  as 
your  place  yet." 

I  see  him  weaken  plain.  I  reckon  he  believed  me 
all  right,  but  he  wa'n't  the  man  to  admit  he  was 
wrong. 

"They  are  your  hawgs !"  he  says,  making  the  dust 
fly  out  of  his  boot  with  his  whip.  "They  are  your 
hawgs,  and  you  know  it.  And  you  will — " 

I  stepped  up  right  close.  "That's  all  right,  Caley 
Byers,"  I  says,  "but  kickin'  Bugle  the  way  you-all 
did,  ain't  all  right.  That  hound  is  mine,  and  he's  a 
cripple-dawg  with  only  three  laigs.  I  don't  'low 
folks  to  abuse  him  no  time.  He  never  harmed  no 
person,  an'  he  never  will." 

Cracky!  he  was  mad.     "He'll  never  harm  me,  if 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER          11 

I  can  catch  him  off  this  place  once,"  he  cried.  "1*11 
kill  him  on  sight.  Hear  me?" 

I  knowed  I  was  mighty  nigh  a  fuss,  but  I  kept 
hold  of  myse'f .  "I  reckon  you'd  best  do  the  hawg- 
killin',  Caley  Byers,"  I  says.  And  I  looked  him 
square  in  the  eyes,  so's  he'd  know  I  wa'n't  fooling. 

Then  I  waited  a  bit,  for  it  seemed  to  me  it  was 
his  say;  but  he  begun  to  back  towards  his  hoss;  and 
old  Becky  getting  nervous  and  fighting  flies,  I  went 
back  to  the  corn. 

Byers  was  muttering  to  himse'f  when  he  got  on 
and  rode  off.  And  I  saw  Aunt  Lib  shut  the  gate 
and  go  back  to  the  house.  I  knowed  she  was  plumb 
scared  and  fretting,  for  she  was  always  afraid  of 
Caley  Byers,  somehow.  He  was  so  high  and  mighty, 
I  reckon. 

I  fixed  myse'f  for  a  scolding.  I  never  said  noth- 
ing to  Aunt  Lib  when  she  scolded  me,  'cause  I 
knowed  she  was  trying  to  do  right  by  me,  and 
everybody  else,  for  that  matter.  But  when  at  noon 
I  went  to  the  house  for  dinner,  she  didn't  say  a 
word.  I  knowed  she'd  told  Uncle  Eldin,  though.  I 
could  tell  by  his  looks;  but  he  never  mentioned  it 
and  neither  did  I.  All  he  said  was,  "How's  the  co'n 
looking,  Lige?" 

I  told  him  it  would  make  a  good  crop,  I  reckoned, 
and  that  I  was  nigh  done  plowing. 

Somehow  my  little  rucus  with  Caley  Byers  made 
me  want  to  get  away  and  do  for  myse'f  more'n  ever. 
I  was  nigh  to  nineteen  and  living  with  other  folks 
yet.  It  didn't  seem  right.  Something  inside  me 
kept  saying,  "Tell  'em  you're  going  to  strike  out." 
But  I  waited  till  dinner  was  pretty  nigh  over ;  then 
I  said: 

"Uncle  Eldin,  don't  you-all  reckon  I'd  best  be  up 


12          LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

and  doing  for  myse'f  ?  I'm  goin'  on  for  nineteen 
now  and  can  take  care  of  myse'f.  You  and  Aunt 
Lib's  been  powerful  good  to  me,  and  some  day  I'll 
shore  make  it  up  to  you.  But  the  work's  about 
done,  and  when  it's  finished  I'd  just  like  to  have  a 
look  'round  a  spell.  I've  said  so  before,  but  you  and 
Aunt  Lib  reckoned  I  was  too  young.  Eben's  'most 
a  man,  an'  can  do  a  man's  work  a'ready." 

"Now  Lige,  I  wished  you-all  wouldn't  talk  that  a- 
way,"  Aunt  Lib  said,  brushing  back  her  hair  like 
she  was  scared.  I  knowed  just  what  she  would  say 
— every  word ;  and  so  I  says : 

"But  Aunt  Lib,  I  figure  I  have  been  about  worth 
my  board  and  keep  up  to  now.  You-all  won't  need 
me  after  this  crop's  plowed,  and  the  garden  weeded. 
I  just  itch  to  be  a-findin'  a  place  for  myse'f.  And 
I've  sure  got  it  to  do  before  I  get  too  old  to  want 
to." 

I  see  I  was  fretting  her  again,  and  I  quit.  But 
she  says,  "You  talk  to  him,  Eldin.  You're  a  man, 
and  mebby  he'll  listen  to  you." 

I  knowed  she  was  scared  I'd  go  up  the  river.  I 
knowed  too  she'd  talked  a  heap  about  it  to  Uncle 
Eldin. 

"Better  stay  where  you  be  till  you  find  some  good 
chance,  Lige,"  he  said,  shoving  his  chair  back  from 
the  table.  "I  don't  figger  you  owe  us  anything, 
boy — not  a  red  cent,"  he  says.  "You've  been  a  big 
he'p  to  me,  and  I  don't  know  what  I'd  a-done  with- 
out you.  When  the  time  comes  for  you  to  go,  I 
won't  lay  a  straw  in  your  way,  no  matter  where  it 
p'ints,  so  long's  it's  honest."  Then  he  got  up  for 
his  hat  and  went  back  to  the  timber  where  he  was 
splitting  rails  for  fencing. 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER          13 

Cracky !  There  didn't  seem  to  be  any  use  to  talk, 
and  I  sure  did  hate  to  fret  Aunt  Lib. 

I  set  there  a  spell,  thinking  hard.  I  could  see  the 
big  lilac  bush,  all  full  of  purple  blossoms,  and  the 
cornfield,  and  the  garden,  and  the  wood  pile,  and 
Aunt  Lib's  flowers  and  vines.  What  a  change  we'd 
made  there  in  the  wilderness  with  two  axes  and  a 
team  since  we  settled  on  Coon  Creek.  It  had  all 
took  work.  And  there'd  always  been  the  struggle 
with  poverty,  ever  since  I  could  remember.  My 
mind  run  on  back  to  chore  days  and  follered  along 
to  that  very  day.  I  was  right  sure  I  hadn't  shirked 
none  nor  bothered — only  mebby  fretting  Aunt  Lib 
with  my  talk.  Many  a  time  when  Uncle  Eldin 
could  spare  me  I'd  split  rails  or  cut  cord-wood  for 
Hawkins,  the  storekeeper  at  the  Crossing,  and  never 
once  kept  a  red  cent  of  what  I'd  earned.  Well, 
once,  mebby  I  did,  but  it  was  winter  time,  and  Mor- 
gan Jackson  didn't  have  no  money,  noway.  I  cut 
eight  cords  of  wood  for  him.  He  give  me  a  silver 
ring  to  pay  for  it,  and  I  kept  it  for  myse'f .  It  had 
a  shield  engraved  on  it,  and  was  mighty  pretty. 
But  mostly  I'd  always  turned  everything  over  to 
Aunt  Lib,  though  I  knowed  it  wa'n't  a  heap.  I 
was  glad  I'd  done  it,  too — I'd  always  a  heap  ruther 
work  than  be  idle;  for  of  late  when  I  was  loafing  I 
couldn't  keep  from  thinking  of  the  wild  country  up 
the  big  river.  And  I  was  mighty  afraid  it  would 
all  be  spoiled  before  I  got  to  it.  Eben  was  stout  as 
I  was,  and  about  all  the  land  Uncle  Eldin  could 
handle  had  been  cleared ;  or  I  wouldn't  have  thought 
of  going  away.  It  didn't  seem  as  though  I  could 
stay  much  longer.  And  now  it  was  June  two  days 
ago — another  June  would  soon  be  gone. 

Aunt  Lib  got  up  and  begun  to  pick  the  dishes 


14          LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

from  the  table.  She  knowed  what  I  was  thinking. 
So  I  went  'round  the  house  to  where  Bugle  was  lay- 
ing to  see  if  he  was  hurt  much. 

Soon's  I  showed  up  he  come  to  me,  whimpering 
and  limping,  though  I  see  right  away  he  was  mak- 
ing believe  a  lot  so's  I'd  pet  him.  I  talked  to  him 
a  spell  and  then  went  back  to  my  plowing. 

I  finished  the  corn  a  good  half  hour  before  sun- 
down, and  right  away  I  got  to  thinking  again  of 
the  upper  Missouri  river  country.  I  tended  to  old 
Becky  and  then  went  to  the  house. 

I  stopped  outside  to  wash  up,  figuring  how  to  go 
to  talking  to  Aunt  Lib  and  not  get  her  started  fuss- 
ing against  me  going  away.  It  had  clouded  up  a 
little,  so  I  said  it  looked  some  like  it  would  rain. 

"Wished  it  would  rain  cats  and  dogs,"  she  says. 
"It's  been  so  hot  all  day  I  cain't  seem  to  get  a 
breath  to  breathe.  Supper's  all  ready  soon's  Eldin 
comes.  Here  he  is  now.  Hurry  and  git  washed, 
Eldin.  Everything'll  get  cold  as  stones." 

"Bet  we  can  eat  it,  hot  or  cold,  cain't  we,  Lige?" 
he  laughed.  And  I  felt  mighty  glad  neither  seemed 
anxious  to  talk  about  me  going  away.  He  rolled  up 
his  sleeves,  good-natured-like  and  says,  "Never  did 
see  so  many  squirrels  as  they  is  this  year.  Must 
have  been  more'n  a  dozen  in  sight  at  one  time  over 
yonder  where  I  was  working  to-day." 

"There  is  a  right  smart  of  'em,"  I  told  him.  I 
wanted  to  keep  'em  going.  So  I  says,  "That  old 
hen-turkey  that  Mrs.  Hawkins  give  Aunt  Lib's  a- 
nestin'  in  that  hazel  thicket  down  by  the  little 
spring.  I've  seen  her  go  in  there  twice  now  of 
mornings." 

That  fetched  Aunt  Lib  into  the  talk  again.  "I 
been  missin'  her,"  she  says,  coming  to  the  door. 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 


15 


"The  huzzey!  So  that's  where  she's  a-stealin'  her 
nest.  I'll  just  have  to  ferrit  her  out  of  there  or 
some  varmit'll  get  her  shore  'nuff.  Land  of  mas- 
sey!  if  it  ain't  one  thing  it's  another,  and  no  rest 
between  'em.  Hurry,  Eldin!  My  land!" 

After  supper  there  was  chores  to  do;  but  when 
they  was  done  I  couldn't  he'p  getting  my  paper  out 
of  the  box  under  my  bed.  It  was  nigh  three 
months  old  a'ready,  dated  April,  1822.  But  it  was 
always  new  to  me.  I  read  the  story  again.  And 
long  after  they  was  all  asleep  I  blowed  out  the  tal- 
low dip  and  got  into  my  bed  to  dream. 


CHAPTER  II 

It  rained  during  the  night,  but  when  morning 
come  there  wa'n't  a  sign  of  a  cloud  nowhere.  Every- 
thing was  fresh  and  smelled  good,  and  I  was  mighty 
glad,  for  the  young  corn  needed  a  wetting.  I  'lowed 
to  he'p  Uncle  Eldin  over  in  the  timber  that  day ;  but 
when  we  got  set  down  to  the  breakfast  table,  Aunt 
Lib  said,  "Somebody's  got  to  take  a  grist  o*  co'n  to 
the  mill,  or  we'll  be  plumb  out  o'  meal  soon.  To- 
day's as  good's  any  to  go,  too.  Lige,  I  wished  you'd 
go.  A  body  cain't  feed  folks  without  somethin'  in 
the  house." 

I  reckon  she'd  got  used  to  me  going,  instead  of 
Eben  or  Charles.  Having  been  to  school  there  reg- 
ular when  Abner  Hastings  was  living,  I'd  got  to 
know  folks  pretty  well,  so  I  brought  home  more 
news  than  the  boys  would,  mebby.  Anyway,  she 
mostly  sent  me ;  and  I  was  glad  of  it. 

"I'll  go,  Aunt  Lib,"  I  told  her,  "unless  Uncle  Eldin 
wants  me  at  somethin'  else  worse." 

"Might's  well  go,  Lige,"  Uncle  said.  "You  can 
ride  Becky." 

But  old  Becky  needed  a  rest  from  the  spring 
work,  so  I  decided  to  go  afoot.  I  mighty  soon 
found  a  good  sack  and  filled  it  nigh  half  full  of  corn. 
Then  I  divided  the  grain  and  swung  the  sack  over 
my  shoulder  I  reckoned  I'd  take  the  rifle  too,  and 
I  did. 

I'd  no  sooner  stepped  'round  the  corner  of  the 
cabin,  when  Bugle  spied  the  gun,  and  right  away 
he  forgot  Caley  Byers'  kick.  He  wa'n't  lame  at  all, 
and  he  fell  in  behind  my  heels,  whining  and  carry- 

16 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER          17 

ing  on.     Cracky !    I  sure  thought  a  heap  of  that  old 
hound. 

In  a  minute  I  was  on  the  Coon  Creek  trail,  and 
Bugle  begun  ranging  a  little,  snuffing  and  making 
out  he  was  mighty  busy  I  let  him,  for  I  was  sure 
there  hadn't  been  a  varmi't  there  for  a  spell  and 
besides  it  had  just  rained.  I  didn't  'low  to  let  him 
take  up  a  trail,  for  sure  as  he  did  I'd  never  get  to 
the  mill;  so  I  watched  him  nosing  ahead  of  me  and 
on  both  sides,  intending  to  stop  him  if  he  got  a 
fresh  trail. 

The  woods  smelled  sweet  as  honey  and  all  along 
the  creek  was  flowers  a-plenty,  and  birds  too.  I 
got  to  thinking  of  the  upper  river,  and  I  reckon 
dreaming,  too;  for  directly,  Bowoo-oo!  I  heered  old 
Bugle,  and  so  durn  far  away  I  couldn't  make  him 
hear  me,  either.  Cracky!  I  was  mad — mad  at  him 
and  mad  at  myse'f .  I  knowed  he'd  never  quit  now, 
so  all  I  could  do  was  to  let  him  go  and  forget  him 
till  he  come  in.  And  I  did.  But  I  kept  hearing 
his  voice  baying  'way  off  in  the  timber  for  a  long 
spell,  getting  fainter  and  fainter,  till  finally  I 
couldn't  hear  him  no  more. 

The  bushes  that  had  growed  up  in  Dan's  Clearing 
was  plumb  full  of  birds,  when  I  got  there — all  sing- 
ing their  thanks  for  the  rain.  Brown  thrushes, 
robins,  and  catbirds,  too,  made  mighty  sweet  music 
in  the  sunlight  that  was  a  heap  brighter  there  be- 
cause of  Dan's  axe.  A  little  ornery  wren  with  his 
tail  pretty  nigh  touching  his  pert  little  head  warbled 
his  sharp  song  over  and  over  again  from  the  broken 
door  of  the  old  cabin,  while  just  under  the  edge  of 
the  pole  roof  his  mate  sat  on  her  nest  listening  to 
him. 

A  big  tree  had  fallen  and  laid  on  one  side  of  the 
clearing  about  thirty  yards  from  the  trail,  its  rag- 


18          LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

ged  roots  full  of  chunks  of  clay  and  looking  like  a 
turkey-tail  fan.  On  top  of  one  of  the  crookedest 
roots  was  a  squirrel  looking  sharp  at  the  trunk  of 
the  tree,  or  something  I  couldn't  see.  He  was  so 
stiff  and  still  that  at  first  I  thought  mebby  I  was 
fooled ;  but  directly  he  run  down  onto  the  trunk  and 
up  pretty  well  towards  its  middle,  where  he  stopped 
and  begun  to  bark  and  scold  like  fury.  Qua-qua- 
quaa!  Qua-qua-quaa !  he  said,  flipping  his  tail  like 
he  wanted  to  drive  something  away  from  there. 
Then  all  of  a  sudden,  like  his  own  daring  had  scared 
him  to  fits,  he  turned  and  scampered  off  like  all  get 
out. 

I  started  to  see  what  it  was  that  he  wanted  to 
scare.  But  just  as  I  headed  that  way  an  old  owl 
flew  out  of  some  bushes  near  there  with  a  rabbit 
in  his  claws.  So  I  didn't  go  no  further. 

But  if  I'd  knowed  then  what  I  know  now — well, 
like  as  not  I  wouldn't  have  looked,  noway — but  I 
sure  wouldn't  be  telling  this  story. 

A  kernel  of  corn  had  got  into  my  boot  and  was 
hurting  my  foot,  so  I  leaned  the  rifle  against  the 
cabin  and  set  down  on  a  stump  to  pull  off  the  boot. 
Then,  after  I  got  out  the  kernel  of  corn,  I  saw  there 
was  a  little  hole  in  the  sack.  So  I  mended  that  and 
rested  before  I  went  on. 

The  grist  mill  at  the  Crossing  was  the  most  im- 
portant of  the  village  institutions ;  and  its  big,  over- 
shot water  wheel  was  turning  right  merry.  I  could 
hear  the  water  splash  as  it  fell  from  its  paddles, 
and  the  clang  of  Mat  Walker's  hammer  in  his  black- 
smith shop  aross  the  road  from  Hawkins'  store, 
before  I  could  see  either  of  them.  They  was  about 
the  only  noise  Coon  Creek  Crossing  owned,  any- 
way, and  I  always  liked  to  hear  them. 

There  was  other  visitors  in  town  besides  me. 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER          19 

Several  saddle  bosses  was  tied  to  the  hitch  rack  in 
the  street.  So  as  soon's  I  took  my  corn  to  the  mill 
I  went  over  to  the  Hawkins'  store  to  get  the  news, 
if  there  was  any.  Aunt  Lib  would  want  to  know 
what  was  going  on,  and  besides  I  liked  to  hear  what 
folks  had  to  say,  myse'f . 

There  was  seven  or  eight  men  in  the  store,  setting 
on  barrels  and  on  the  counter.  Caley  Byers  was 
one  of  them,  and  he  was  reading  aloud  about  another 
big  rucus  up  the  river.  I  found  a  place  on  the 
counter  where  I  could  hear  good  and  listen  with 
the  rest. 

It  had  been  a  bad  row,  and  again  the  whitemen 
had  got  the  worst  of  it.  The  story  was  told  by 
one  of  the  wounded  trappers  that  had  been  fetched 
into  St.  Louis  more'n  a  month  after  the  fight. 

There  was  another  story  in  the  paper  that  Caley 
Byers  read,  and  I  heered  all  that  one.  It  said  Gen- 
eral Ashley  was  back  in  St.  Louis.  The  General 
had  told  a  lot  more  about  the  fight  that  was 
in  the  paper  under  my  bed.  He  said  in  that 
row  he'd  lost  a  keel  boat  loaded  with  ten  thou- 
sand dollars'  worth  of  trade  goods,  besides  a  passel 
of  men.  The  part  that  I  liked  best  was  where  the 
General  told  about  the  country  up  the  river. 
Cracky !  I  did  like  that  part.  But  finally  it  was  all 
told  and  Caley  Byers  folded  up  the  newspaper  and 
put  it  in  his  pocket.  I  wished  I  could  borrow  it  a 
spell;  but  I'd  rot  before  I'd  ask  him  to  lend  it. 
Though  I  reckon  if  he'd  offered  to  let  me  take  it,  I'd 
a-f orgive  him  for  kicking  Bugle,  and  even  crowding 
me  off'n  the  trail,  mebby.  Most  likely  he  never 
thought  of  it;  but  I  did,  a  little. 

Mr.  Hawkins  weighed  out  some  tea  for  Caley 
Byers,  and  while  Hawkins'  back  was  turned  I  saw 
his  boy  Jeff  take  a  hank  of  tobacco.  I  reckoned  I 


20          LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

could  have  made  him  give  me  back  the  bullet-mould 
then,  but  I  didn't.  Both  the  men  was  talking  about 
the  upper  country  and  the  fight.  Mr.  Hawkins 
said,  "I  don't  know's  I  blame  them  Injins  a  great 
sight  for  fightin'.  The  country's  theirs,  an'  they'll 
be  drove  out  of  it  soon  enough,  anyway.  I'd  fight, 
too,  if  I  was  an  Injin."  Then  he  weighed  out  some 
sugar  for  his  customer  and  added,  "But,  right  or 
wrong,  if  I  was  young,  I'd  j'ine  up  with  one  of  them 
trappin'  an'  tradin'  parties.  But  I'm  past  that  now. 
It's  a  young  man's  country,  I  reckon." 

"Yes,  you  and  I  are  too  old,  Hawkins,"  Caley 
Byers  said,  but  as  though  he  was  satisfied.  "It's  a 
land  for  the  young — a  rich  land  and  wild.  It  will  be 
wild  for  a  long  time  yet.  And  as  it  opens  up  St. 
Louis  will  grow  to  be  a  big  city,  mark  my  words. 
For  all  the  trade  of  that  great  wilderness  must  come 
to  her  as  it  develops." 

He  leaned  against  the  counter,  facing  me;  but  he 
made  out  he  didn't  see  me,  like  he  did  that  morning 
on  the  trail,  so  I  didn't  even  nod  nor  say  liowdy'  to 
him. 

By  and  by  Mat  Walker,  the  blacksmith,  come  in 
to  get  some  borax,  and  right  away  Caley  Byers  said, 
"I  must  get  my  hoss  shod,  Mat.  I  'most  forgot  it." 

Then  him  and  Mat  went  out,  and  I  saw  Caley 
Byers  lead  his  saddle-hoss  to  the  blacksmith  shop. 

Mr.  Hawkins  asked  about  Aunt  Lib  and  Uncle 
Eldin,  like  he  always  did,  and  I  bought  some  pow- 
der and  lead;  for  I'd  plumb  made  up  my  mind.  I 
shook  hands  with  Mr.  Hawkins  and  said,  "Good-bye 
for  a  spell." 

It  surprised  him,  I  reckon,  and  he  asked  me  if  I 
was  going  somewheres.  I  told  him  I  was  going  to 
have  a  look  around  for  myse'f  soon's  the  work  was 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER         21 

finished,  and  that  it  was  mighty  nigh  done  a'ready. 

"Take  keer  o'  yourse'f ,"  he  says,  "an*  come  back 
yer'  sometime.  I  wished  JefFd  spruce  up  an'  try 
to  do  something  'sides  loaf  'round  the  store  where  I 
don't  need  him." 

Right  away  I  felt  better'n  I  had  for  a  year.  I 
knowed  I  was  doing  right.  And  when  I  got  my 
sack  of  meal  I  flung  it  over  my  shoulder  and  struck 
out  for  home  lickety-split. 

The  big  river  was  high  now,  I  knowed,  and  I 
was  afraid  it  wouldn't  stay  up  till  I  got  there.  Out- 
fits would  be  setting  out  for  the  upper  country  only 
as  long  as  the  river  was  high,  and  I  was  afraid  I'd 
be  late. 

It's  mighty  good  to  get  your  mind  made  up  to 
something  that's  been  pestering.  I  never  knowed  it 
before  then;  but  ever  since  then  I've  tried  to  go 
into  camp  with  a  question  and  settle  it  quick  as  I 
can,  for  while  its  teetering  around  in  your  mind 
you  ain't  fit  for  much.  Most  always  you  do  just 
what  you  first  thought  you  would,  anyway,  because 
you're  mighty  nigh  sure  to  measure  the  sides  of  a 
question  soon's  it  comes  to  you — and  better'n  you 
think  you  do,  too. 

I  was  sweating  like  a  nigger  when  I  got  to  Dan's 
Clearing,  and  I  stopped  and  shifted  the  sack  of 
meal.  But  I  didn't  stop  long.  The  sun  was  pretty 
low,  so  I  hurried  on. 

It  was  still  as  death  in  the  Clearing.  The  shad- 
ows of  the  tallest  trees  reached  mighty  nigh  to 
the  middle  of  it.  I  saw  the  old  root  again,  but 
there  wa'n't  no  squirrel  on  it  this  time.  A  rabbit 
bobbed  across  the  trail  ahead  to  find  a  better  hid- 
ing place  in  a  patch  of  young  hazel  brush.  The 
little  wren  had  quit  his  song  and  so  had  the  rest  of 


22          LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

the  birds.  I  didn't  hear  a  sound,  except  a  yellow- 
hammer's  drumming  'way  off  in  the  woods.  But  I 
saw  an  old  red-head  light  on  the  roof  of  Dan's 
cabin,  only  to  go  off  again,  when  I  come  along. 

I  got  to  thinking  of  Bugle,  and  wondering  if  he'd 
quit  yet;  but  I  reckoned  he  hadn't,  'less  he'd  killed 
or  treed  what  he  was  after.  Durndest  hound  that 
ever  did  live,  Bugle  was.  Anyway,  I  knowed  he'd 
come  home  when  he  finished  his  run. 

By  the  time  I  got  to  our  place  the  sun  was  down, 
and  there  was  some  clouds  in  the  west.  The  wind 
had  come  up  a  little  and  it  felt  like  it  had  run  onto 
a  shower  of  rain  in  its  travels;  so  I  thought  mebby 
it  would  rain  again  in  the  night.  When  I  was  let- 
ting1 down  the  bars  I  heered  an  old  hen  clucking 
fretful,  like,  and  I  hung  the  sack  of  meal  on  the 
fence  to  see  what  was  troubling  her.  She  was 
fussing  around  over  in  a  patch  of  hazel  brush,  and 
I  slipped  over  that  way,  parting  the  bushes  care- 
ful. Directly  I  saw  her.  She  was  capering  and 
jawing  at  a  skunk  sucking  her  eggs  in  a  nest  she'd 
stole.  I  pulled  down  on  mister  man  and  killed 
him.  At  the  crack  of  the  rifle  the  old  hen  ran,  half 
flying  towards  the  house,  raising  the  durndest 
racket  she  could,  and  in  a  minute  Aunt  Lib  was  in 
the  door. 

"Whatever's  the  matter,  Lige?"  she  called. 

"Nothin'  much,"  I  answered.  "That  ol'  fool  hen 
stole  her  nest  in  them  hazels  and  a  skunk's  sucked 
her  aiggs." 

"Land  o'  massey!"  she  says.  "If  it  ain't  one 
thing  it's  another.  I  f errited  out  that  ol'  hen-tur- 
key down  by  the  little  spring  this  afternoon,  an'  she 
had  fourteen  aiggs  under  her.  How  many  was  in 
the  hen's  nest,  Lige?" 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER          23 

"I  didn't  count  'em,  nor  try  to,  Aunt  Lib,"  I  said, 
going  in  the  house  to  put  up  the  sack  and  rifle. 
"But  she  won't  never  go  back  to  'em  noway.  It 
smells  mighty  bad  down  there  now." 

"Massey!"  she  frets.  "Yonder  comes  Eldin,  an* 
supper  ain't  nigh  ready  yit.  I  wished  you'd  split 
some  o'  that  wood  finer,  Lige.  A  body  cain't  cook 
with  a  passel  o'  logs  fer  kindlin'.  Eben's  been 
he'pin'  Eldin  all  day  an'  so  there  ain't  no  kindlin'." 

She  didn't  say  anything  about  Charles  splittin' 
the  kindling.  She  never  did.  Seems  like  when 
boys  don't  natur'ly  he'p  their  folks  they  just 
natur'ly  don't  ask  'em  to.  I  reckoned  that  when 
I'd  gone  Charles'd  wake  up  and  see  there  was  a 
heap  he  could  do.  I  reckoned  he'd  have  to. 

"Was  they  many  folks  down  to  the  Crossin'  to- 
day?" Aunt  Lib  was  asking. 

"I  didn't  see  many,  Aunt  Lib,"  I  said.  "No 
women  folks  at  all."  And  then  I  went  out  to  the 
woodpile. 

I'd  made  up  my  mind  to  tell  them  at  supper.  I 
wished  it  was  over  with,  for  I  did  hate  to  fret  Aunt 
Lib.  But  I  reckoned  this  would  be  the  last  time 
I'd  have  it  to  do  for  quite  a  spell.  It  seemed  as 
though  every  minute  I  waited  made  it  worse.  So 
all  of  a  sudden  I  picked  up  an  armful  of  wood  and 
followed  Uncle  Eldin  into  the  house.  Then  I  come 
out  with  it. 

"I've  made  up  my  mind,  folks,"  I  said,  trying  to 
keep  my  voice  stiddy  and  not  look  at  Aunt  Lib. 
"In  the  mornin',"  I  says,  "I'm  goin'  to  St.  Louis  an' 
try  to  git  me  a  place  there." 

"Oh,  Lige  Mounts!  You've  been  a-readin'  more 
trash  an'  you'll  git  yerse'f  killed,  shore  nuif.  You 
talk  to  him,  Eldin."  And  Aunt  Lib  turned  away 


24          LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

in  disgust.     Cracky !    I  was  glad  she  was  more  mad 
than  hurt. 

But  Uncle  Eldin  only  said,  "Well,  boy,  if  ye  must 
ye  will,  I  reckon." 

He'd  give  up.  I  could  see  that.  And  I  felt  nigh 
happy. 

He  walked  over  to  hang  up  his  hat.  Then  he 
said,  "But  why  all  this  hurry?  St.  Louis'll  be  there 
when  ye  git  to  it,  Lige." 

"Yes,  I  reckon  it  will,"  I  said,  "but  it's  high 
water  now,  an*  outfits  are  goin'  up  the  river  to 
trade.  I'd  hate  to  be  late,  so  I'm  goin'  in  the 
mornin'." 

There!  I  felt  lots  better.  He  started  to  whistle. 
Directly  I  says,  "Uncle  Eldin,  kin  I  hev  the  new 
rifle?" 

He  walked  over  to  the  wall  and  looked  at  it,  all 
slick  and  clean  as  a  wolf's  tooth.  "Of  course,  boy. 
It's  yours  more'n  mine,  anyway.  Take  it  along, 
an'  welcome,"  he  said,  right  low. 

It  was  sure  a  dreary  meal,  supper  was.  Nobody 
talked  much.  Even  the  littler  ones  was  quiet.  I 
knowed  Eben  envied  me  some;  but  I  felt  his  case 
was  a  heap  different  than  mine.  I  could  have  no 
share  in  the  place  when  Aunt  Lib  and  Uncle  Eldin 
was  through  with  it.  There  was  more'n  a  plenty 
to  divide  it  with,  leaving  me  out.  And  I  didn't 
belong  in,  noway. 


CHAPTER  III 

I  can't  forget  that  night  nor  the  next  morning. 
I  could  hear  Aunt  Lib  stirring  about  long  after  the 
others  was  sleeping,  and  I  knowed  she  was  fixing 
and  fussing  for  me.  And  again  before  daylight 
she  was  up  and  at  it  by  candle  light. 

Although  I  was  anxious  to  be  starting,  I  hated 
to  get  out  of  my  bed,  not  because  I  was  weakening, 
but  because  I'd  have  to  talk  to  Aunt  Lib. 

At  last  I  got  up  and  dressed.  It  promised  to  be 
a  fine  day,  though  it  wa'n't  quite  light,  even  then. 
I  found  them  all  at  the  breakfast  table.  Jinny  had 
her  hair  done  up  high,  like  she  was  going  some 
place.  She  was  fourteen  and  right  pretty.  She 
tied  a  bib  'round  Susan's  neck  and  set  Alexander 
Hamilton  on  his  high  chair  before  she  set  down 
herse'f .  It  appeared  to  me  she  was  he'pin'  more'n 
usual  that  morning.  Then  I  saw  that  Jane  Ellen 
had  tied  a  ribbon  in  her  hair;  and  I  felt  like  they 
was  all  bent  on  seeing  me  off  in  style.  Jane  Ellen 
was  only  ten,  but  I'd  always  thought  a  heap  of  her ; 
she  was  so  kind  and  thoughtful  for  a  little  girl. 
Eben  set  right  across  from  me  and  looked  sulky 
and  down  in  the  mouth. 

Directly  Charles  started  to  talk  about  In j  ins,  but 
Aunt  Lib  shut  him  up  quicker'n  scat,  and  Eben  got 
up  and  went  out  to  the  barn.  I  kept  thinking  how 
pretty  Jinny  was  and  how  good  little  Jane  Ellen 
had  always  been  since  she  was  a  baby.  The  little 
ones,  Susan  and  Alexander  Hamilton,  didn't  know 
I  was  going  away,  and  I  felt  glad  enough,  for  there 
was  plenty  to  say  good-bye  to,  as  it  was. 

25 


26          LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

Breakfast  was  soon  over,  and  I  moulded  my  lead 
into  bullets  with  the  rest  watching  by  the  fireplace. 
Aunt  Lib  had  made  a  bundle  of  some  clothes  and 
food,  and  when  she  give  them  to  me,  she  couldn't 
keep  back  her  tears.  I  felt  mighty  bad,  for  I 
knowed  she  was  fretting  a  heap;  but  this  was  the 
last  time  she'd  have  to  worry  about  me  for  a  long 
spell. 

I  kissed  her  and  the  girls  and  said  good-bye  as 
quick  as  I  could.  Then  I  shook  hands  with  Uncle 
Eldin  and  said,  "Good-bye  for  a  spell.  One  of 
these  days  I'll  come  back,  an'  if  I've  been  lucky  I'll 
shore  divide." 

Then  I  took  down  the  rifle  and  powder-horn  and 
bullet-ppuch  and  went  out  of  the  cabin  as  quick  as 
I  could.  They  was  all  gathered  in  the  door,  I 
knowed,  but  I  didn't  look  back  till  I  climbed  the 
fence  on  the  far  side  of  the  corn  field.  Then  I 
turned  and  waved  my  hand.  I  saw  them  all,  even 
Bugle — who'd  got  back  in  the  night — standing 
there  in  the  door — all  except  Uncle  Eldin.  He  was 
on  his  way  to  the  spring  for  a  bucket  of  water.  I 
had  never  knowed  him  to  pack  drinking  water  be- 
fore. 

In  a  jiffy  the  timber  hid  me,  and  I  struck  out 
lickety  split,  like  I  was  afraid  something  would 
catch  up  and  steal  my  chance  of  going  away.  I 
followed  the  winding  road,  that  led,  folks  said,  clean 
to  St.  Louis,  a  hundred  miles  off,  till  I  come  to  a 
spring  of  water.  Right  away  I  wanted  a  drink. 
It  seemed  so  good  to  know  I  could  do  whatever  I 
pleased  that  even  that  little  thing  demanded  atten- 
tion. So  I  stopped  by  the  spring. 

I  hadn't  looked  back  for  an  hour,  I  reckon.  But 
from  the  spring  the  way  I'd  come  was  straight  for 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER          27 

more'n  a  quarter,  and  far  back  I  could  see  Bugle 
comin'  on  his  three  old  laigs.  I  forgot  all  about 
drinking.  In  a  minute  he'd  caught  up  to  me,  tick- 
led nigh  to  death.  I  hadn't  the  heart  to  be  cross 
with  him.  But  of  course  I  couldn't  be  bothered 
with  a  hound  going  to  St.  Louis,  so  I  patted  him 
first  and  then  sent  him  back.  He  didn't  want  to 
go,  and  now  that  I'd  got  this  far  I  didn't  blame 
him.  "Git  home,"  I  says,  making  believe  I'd 
picked  up  a  rock  and  was  going  to  throw  it. 

He  turned  and  hobbled  off,  looking  over  his 
shoulder  at  me.  Cracky !  the  reproach  that  was  in 
his  eyes!  But  I  stooped  again  and  made  him 
think  I'd  got  another  rock,  and  he  went  off  faster 
and  faster,  till  he  got  to  the  bend  down  the  road, 
where  he  set  down  and  just  looked  back  at  me.  He 
wouldn't  budge  further.  I  felt  I  was  sneaking 
away  from  a  friend  when  at  last  I  started  on.  And 
I'd  forgot  to  drink.  I  kept  looking  back  every  lit- 
tle while  to  see  if  he  was  followeing,  but  I  didn't 
see  him  no  more,  and  was  mighty  glad. 

Gnarled  stumps  and  crooked  roots  was  plenty  in 
the  wagon  road;  so  the  traveling  wa'n't  very  good. 
But  the  sunlight  and  shade  cut  all  kinds  of  capers 
and  I  got  to  watching  the  little  blotches  of  gold 
that  shivered  and  trembled  on  the  dark  ground. 
The  road  made  me  think  of  a  leopard's  skin  I'd 
seen  in  Abner  Hastings'  natural  history  book.  And 
all  day  long  there  was  blue- jays,  and  from  most 
every  hickory  squirrels  barking  at  me  as  I  followed 
the  dim  wheel  tracks;  for  the  road  wa'n't  much 
used  noway.  It  was  cool  in  the  woods  and  I  trav- 
eled pretty  fast,  always  keeping  a  watch  for  Bugle, 
because  I  couldn't  believe  he'd  quit,  once  he  started. 


28    UGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

Mebby  he  knowed  more'n  I  give  him  credit  for, 
though. 

I  come  to  a  clearing  pretty  soon,  just  an  acre  or 
two,  and  I  reckoned  it  was  the  Jesson  place.  Folks 
didn't  respect  Les  Jesson  much,  so  I  didn't  stop. 
But  they  was  three  small  children  perched  on  the 
top  rail  of  the  fence  around  the  clearing.  I  said 
'howdy*  and  the  oldest,  a  boy,  answered;  then 
finally,  after  I  was  far  enough  away,  he  got  cour- 
age and  called  "Where  ye  goin',  stranger?"  But  I 
made  out  like  I  didn't  hear  him. 

Then  for  hours  there  wa'n't  any  clearings  or 
cabins,  just  the  woods  and  the  road  to  St.  Louis. 

I  couldn't  hardly  wait  to  get  there.  I  traveled 
till  plumb  dark.  Then  I  built  a  little  fire  and  ate 
most  half  of  the  food  Aunt  Lib  had  give  me.  After 
that  I  went  to  sleep ;  for  I  was  tired  as  a  dog,  but 
happy. 

First  I  knowed  the  sun  was  in  my  eyes.  Cracky ! 
I  jumped  up;  but  I  didn't  build  a  fire.  I  just  ate  a 
lunch  and  away  I  went,  lickety-split.  I  wanted  to 
make  up,  for  I'd  ought  to  have  been  on  the  way 
long  ago.  I  hit  an  awful  gait,  and  kept  it  up  till 
noon,  when  I  passed  a  right  big  clearing.  There 
was  a  store  and  a  mill  there,  and  a  lot  of  hounds 
and  cur-dogs  that  barked  at  me  when  I  passed ;  but 
I  didn't  stop.  I  saw  folks  looking  at  me  from  doors 
and  windows,  but  I  made  out  like  I  didn't  notice 
them  and  kept  going. 

I  was  getting  right  tired  by  dark,  so  I  knowed 
I'd  most  likely  made  up  what  I'd  lost  by  oversleep- 
ing. And  so  I  built  me  a  fire  to  roast  a  squirrel  I'd 
shot  just  before  sundown. 

By  the  time  the  fire  was  going  good  the  moon 
was  up,  and  it  looked  mighty  pretty  through  the 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER          29 

trees.  I'd  passed  a  cabin  a  little  way  back;  and 
when  I  was  skinning  out  the  squirrel  I  heered 
something,  and  looking  up,  saw  a  man  on  the  other 
side  of  my  fire. 

"Howdy,  stranger,"  he  says,  cheery-like. 

"Howdy,"  I  says,  hanging  my  squirrel  on  a  stick 
before  the  blaze. 

"Travelin'?" 

"Yep." 

"Which  way?" 

"St.  Louis,"  I  says.     "How  fer  is  it  from  here?" 

"Reckon  it's  nigh  onto  thirty-two  mile,"  he  says. 
"Where'd  ye  come  from?" 

"Back  yonder  nigh  to  Coon  Creek  Crossin'." 

"By  gum!  ye've  had  a  right  smart  hike,  ain't 
ye?  Better  come  right  over  to  the  house  an'  rest 
yo'se'f." 

"No  thanks,"  I  says.  "I'm  plumb  comfortable 
here.  Won't  ye  set  down  an'  have  a  bite  with 
me?" 

"No,"  he  says,  "had  my  supper  long  ago.  What's 
yer  name?" 

"Lige  Mounts." 

"Mounts,  hey?"  he  says,  like  he'd  heered  it  be- 
fore. "Well,  Mounts,  if  you  won't  come  over  to 
the  house,  I  reckon  I'll  be  goin'  back  myse'f.  Folks 
seen  yer  fire  an'  kep'  a-naggin'  an*  peckin'  at  me 
till  I  come  over  to  see  who  built  it.  Good  night," 
he  says,  and  went  off. 

I  was  glad  of  it.  My  squirrel  was  nigh  done, 
and  I  was  tired  and  hungry. 

I  mighty  nigh  finished  Aunt  Lib's  grub.  But 
the  squirrel  he'ped  a  lot,  and  I  saved  some  of  it. 
I  filled  my  pipe  and  took  a  smoke ;  but  I  went  sound 
asleep  setting  up  straight,  with  my  back  against  a 


30          LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

hickory;  tree.  And  I  dreamed.  I  thought  Bugle 
and  I  was  trying  to  drive  something  out  from  be- 
hind the  fallen  tree  in  Dan's  Clearing,  and  that  the 
old  roots  kept  moving  and  was  plumb  full  of  squir- 
rels. Then  all  of  a  sudden  something  awful  seemed 
to  have  happened  in  Dan's  Clearing,  and  I  started 
in  my  sleep  and  fell  over.  After  that  I  stretched 
out;  but  I  reckon  I'd  eaten  too  much,  for  I  didn't 
get  much  sleep.  I  was  glad  when  I  saw  that  it  was 
getting  daylight,  and  built  up  my  fire  right  away. 

While  it  was  burning  up  good,  I  went  off  into 
the  timber  a  piece  and  shot  a  squirrel  for  my 
breakfast.  I  wondered  if  the  folks  in  the  cabin 
would  hear  the  shot;  but  if  they  did  nobody  come 
near  me. 

I  soon  got  the  jacket  off  my  squirrel.  And  long 
before  it  was  right  good  daylight  I  was  making 
better'n  four  miles  an  hour  towards  St.  Louis.  I 
kept  it  up  pretty  well,  passing  more  and  more 
cabins  and  clearings  and  meeting  more  and  more 
people.  Some  wanted  to  stop  and  talk  and  some 
didn't.  And  I  never  did  see  so  many  different 
Kinds  of  cur-dogs,  with  only  now  and  again  a  good 
looking  hound  among  them.  I  saw  two  mighty 
pretty  girls  in  a  big  clearing  'long  about  noon. 
They  was  both  hoss-back  and  looked  right  pert  and 
fine.  They  had  awful  long  riding  skirts  on  and 
wore  hats  with  feathers  in  them.  They  looked 
mighty  fine  and  pert,  I  can  tell  you.  They  was  a 
heap  prettier  than  Polly  Hawkins — both  of  them. 
And  I'd  always  believed  she  had  them  all  beat. 

The  road  kept  getting  better  and  better  and  more 
used,  and  by  and  by  it  was  right  dusty  and  I  met  a 
passel  of  people  afoot  and  hoss-back — all  coming 
from  St.  Louis,  I  reckoned.  But  I  couldn't  see 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER  31 

where  they  could  all  live  unless  they  was  a  heap 
more  houses  somewheres  along  the  road  than  I'd 
seen. 

I  passed  a  man  that  was  dressed  up  fit  to  kill.  I 
reckoned  he  was  mighty  well  off,  for  I.  never  had 
seen  such  fine  clothes.  He  wore  a  tall  beaver  hat 
that  must  have  set  him  back  a  plenty,  and  he  was 
packing  a  cane.  I  wished  I  knowed  who  he  was. 
Then  by  and  by  I  passed  a  carriage.  I'd  never 
seen  such  a  fine  team  of  hosses  in  my  life  before — 
blood  bays,  a  leetle  too  high-headed,  mebby,  but  full 
o'  mettle,  and  young.  There  was  a  white  haired 
old  couple  in  the  carriage,  laying  back  and  looking 
happy,  and  a  nigger  driving  the  rig.  The  old  gen- 
tleman waved  his  hand  at  me,  and  I  was  tickled 
plenty  and  answered.  Then  the  old  lady  bowed, 
and  I  took  off  my  hat  quicker'n  a  cat  can  turn 
around.  I  thought  it  was  mighty  nice  and  friendly 
of  them ;  and  I  did  wish  I  knowed  who  they  was. 

But  I  can't  begin  to  tell  you  of  all  the  folks  I 
met  that  afternoon.  I  didn't  know  there  was  so 
many  on  any  road  as  I  saw  that  day.  It  was  worth 
the  walking  just  to  see  them;  and  I  reckon  I  could 
have  stood  it  for  a  month,  just  to  get  to  see  them 
over  again — them  and  others  that  would  come 
along. 

I  turned  a  bend  in  the  road  right  where  it  started 
to  go  down  hill  pretty  fast;  and  when  I  looked, 
there  she  was — St.  Louis! 


CHAPTER  IV 

I  knowed  quite  a  lot  about  St.  Louis,  or  thought 
I  did.  Abner  Hastings  had  been  there  more'n 
once,  and  he'd  told  me  a  good  deal.  But  not  half — 
not  even  a  quarter. 

I  was  glad  I  knowed  what  I  did.  It  accounted 
for  a  heap  of  things  I  saw  that  day.  I  remembered 
Abner  Hastings  had  told  me  that  St.  Louis  was  one 
of  the  few  cities  now  under  our  good  flag  that  was 
older'n  the  Union  itse'f.  "Her  career,"  he'd  said, 
"has  been  as  mottled  as  her  population,  which, 
changing  somewhat  with  her  allegiance,  has  still 
left  a  portion  of  both  good  and  bad  of  the  peoples 
belonging  to  the  three  sovereign  nations  which  have 
of  right  possessed  her  during  her  fifty-nine  years 
of  existence."  I  remembered  every  word  of  that, 
just  like  he'd  said  it;  and  now  I  knowed  it  was  true 
— especially  the  part  about  the  population. 

For  I  never  did  see  such  a  passel  of  differences 
in  my  life  before — not  even  in  a  bushel  of  bad-year 
potatoes.  Most  likely  people  from  the  three  sover- 
eign nations  was  right  there  that  day.  Soon's  I 
got  there  I  begun  to  meet  up  with  queer-looking 
folks.  Trappers  and  voyageurs,  dressed  all  in  buck- 
skin with  fancy  head  riggin's ;  bull- whackers  in  reg- 
ular old  homespun's  bad's  my  own;  squaws  wear- 
ing every  bright  color  I  ever  did  see;  half-breeds 
with  rings  in  their  ears  and  nothin'  on  their  heads 
but  their  black  bobbed  hair;  Injins  all  fine  in  quill 
work,  and  their  faces  painted  fit  to  scare  a  varmi't ; 
barefoot  niggers  clear  from  New  Orleans  and  naked 
to  the  waist;  regular  dandies  from  back  Boston 

32 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER          33 

way,  I  reckoned,  wearing  tall  beaver  hats  and 
frilled  shirts;  regular  ladies  in  carriages  and 
dressed  to  kill — all  happy,  or  appearing  to  be,  from 
the  noise  they  was  making. 

There  was  groups  of  men  setting  everywhere, 
and  the  taverns  was  full  to  busting.  Every  door 
was  wide  open.  I  could  hardly  get  past  them.  And 
the  noise !  Why,  men  was  singing  in  every  tavern 
— or  I  reckoned  they  thought  they  was  singing. 
But  it  was  English  and  French  all  jumbled  up,  and 
sounded  awful  to  me.  More'n  half  the  noise  was 
laughing  though,  loud  and  rough,  but  genuine  as 
pigweed  in  a  garden  patch.  Everybody  seemed  to 
have  a  language  of  their  own.  I'd  never  heered 
one  of  them  before;  and  I  was  willing  to  bet  there 
wa'n't  another  spot  on  earth  where  there  was  so 
many  different  ones  spoken  among  friends.  It 
seemed  to  me,  too,  that  there  couldn't  be  any  other 
place  where  white  folks  winked  at  so  many  things 
done  in  open  daylight,  and  still  reckoned  themse'fs 
decent.  If  Joshua  Moulds,  our  circuit  rider,  had 
been  there  and  saw  the  things  I  did  that  day,  I 
wouldn't  have  listened  to  him  preach  afterward — 
not  for  a  dollar. 

But  everybody  was  happy,  and  I  figured  that  was 
a  heap.  I  had  never  heered  so  much  laughing. 
Everybody  wanted  to  laugh  and  did — all  but  one 
woman,  and  she  was  crying.  I  met  up  with  her 
about  half  way  down  the  street  and  stopped  and 
asked  her  if  I  could  he'p  her  any.  She  started  to 
talk,  but  I  couldn't  understand  a  word  she  said. 
Then  she  took  hold  of  my  arm  and  wanted  me  to 
go  somewheres  with  her;  but  not  liking  the  way 
she  acted  I  went  on  about  my  business. 

There  was  music  a-plenty,  too,  all  along  the  way. 


34          LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

Fiddles  was  going  full  tilt  in  nigh  every  tavern, 
and  there  was  dancing  in  some  of  the  places.  I 
had  to  go  around  the  groups  of  Injin  women  from 
up  the  river  that  was  gathered  in  front  of  the 
doors,  looking  in  at  the  fun  and  having  a  great 
time  of  their  own.  Most  of  them  was  eating 
sweets,  and  all  of  them  wore  red  or  green  or  yellow 
silks  on  their  heads — regular  bouquets  they  looked, 
bunched  close  in  their  anxiety  to  see. 

I  never  did  see  such  a  mixing  of  colors.  Aunt 
Lib's  flower  beds  wa'n't  a  patchin'  to  it — not  when 
every  blossom  was  out  at  one  time.  Colors  seemed 
to  live  in  St.  Louis.  Even  the  cattle  in  the  bull- 
teams  was  every  color  a  critter  could  be — white, 
bay,  black,  roan,  or  spotted;  and  sometimes  there 
was  as  many  as  twenty  yoke  in  a  team.  Cracky! 
the  loads  they  was  hauling.  Wagons  piled  high 
with  freight  from  the  levees — goods  that  come  from 
as  far  oif  as  Philadelphia  and  New  York  being 
hauled  to  stores  or  warehouses.  Long-lashed  bull- 
whips  popped  like  rifles,  and  men  cussin'  like  pir- 
ates, with  sharp  goad-sticks,  tortured  the  cattle  to 
mighty  nigh  bust  their  yokes  pulling  the  loads.  I 
saw  bales  and  bales  of  fur  and  buffalo  robes  and 
dried  meat  being  hauled  from  the  river;  and  I 
knowed  some  big  outfits  had  come  down  with  the 
high  water. 

I  saw  men  that  was  rich  and  men  that  didn't 
have  a  red  cent,  nor  a  place  to  go.  These  poor  fel- 
lers had  had  money  but  spent  it  carousin'  in  St. 
Louis,  raising  Ned  while  their  pile  lasted.  Now 
they  was  strapped.  But  I  reckoned  from  what  I'd 
seen  that  St.  Louis  didn't  much  care  what  visitors 
did,  so  long  as  they  spent  what  they  had ;  and  even 
if  she  was  obliged  to  shut  one  eye,  or  even  both, 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER          35 

while  they  was  spending,  she  counted  herse'f  richer 
when  they  had  gone  back  up  the  river  to  get  more 
to  spend. 

There  was  some  excuse  for  the  visitors,  anyway. 
They  spent  long  months  in  the  wilds,  always  in  dan- 
ger and  having  little  comfort.  It  wa'n't  much 
wonder  that  when  at  last  they  could  forget  being 
careful  and  come  in  to  St.  Louis  to  rest  and  sell 
their  fur,  they  dipped  too  deep  in  the  town's  civili- 
zation— if  that's  what  it  was.  Friends  met  up 
there,  and  each  was  sure  to  have  a  yarn  to  tell ;  and 
in  the  telling  liquor  finds  a  place — a  big  place,  some- 
times, I  reckon. 

Directly  I  saw  loads  of  goods  going  to  the  river. 
Some  outfit  was  getting  ready  to  start  out,  sure 
enough.  So  I  followed  behind  the  bull-teams  to  see 
what  was  going  on,  and  mebby  get  a  place  for 
myse'f. 

Then  I  saw  the  steamboats,  heaps  of  them, 
swarming  like  bees  at  the  levee.  And  if  I  thought 
there  was  noise  up  street,  I  was  mistaken.  It  was 
like  a  funeral  up  there  to  what  it  was  down  by  the 
river.  Steamboats  coming  and  going,  chowing  and 
churning  like  mad;  whistles  blowing  so  it  mighty 
nigh  split  my  ears;  niggers  sweatin'  and  mates  a- 
swearin'  like  all  get  out.  Everybody  was  hurryin' 
an'  everybody  was  liftin'  or  shovin'  something  up 
or  down  gang  planks  or  on  the  wharf.  There 
wa'n't  room  for  the  bull-teams.  I'll  bet  I  saw 
more'n  a  thousand  cattle  in  less'n  a  minute. 

Clang,  clang!  jingle,  jingle!  would  go  a  bell;  and 
chow-chow-chow!  the  white  steam  would  spurt  out 
of  stacks,  as  a  steamboat  backed  out  to  make  room 
for  another  more  noisier  than  herse'f.  I  saw  a 
big  nigger  nigh  kill  a  little  one;  and  I  saw  a  mate 


36          LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

hit  another  and  knock  him  end-ways.  I  saw  more'n 
a  dozen  drunk  men  sound  asleep  right  there  in  the 
noise,  and  two  or  three  women,  too,  that  was  tipsy 
and  making  free  with  niggers  like  they  was  white. 
I  met  up  with  a  little  white  boy  with  a  basket  on 
his  arm  winding  in  and  out  among  that  mess  alone. 
Every  minute  he'd  call  out  "Sweet  cakes!  Sweet 
cakes!"  I  reckoned  he  was  selling  sweet  cakes  to 
the  men  down  there. 

Pretty  soon  a  dog  fight  started  right  on  the  levee. 
It  was  a  good  one,  too — a  fox  hound  and  a  cur-dog. 
They  made  quite  a  scattering  among  the  men,  and 
the  niggers  stopped  to  watch  them,  till  a  mad  mate 
throwed  a  bucket  of  water  on  the  dogs,  and  they 
quit. 

I  didn't  see  no  keel-boats,  nor  no  chance  to  ask 
anybody  about  them.  So  I  went  away,  intending 
to  come  back  after  a  spell.  I  knowed  I'd  go  crazy 
if  I  stayed  there.  I  couldn't  stand  the  noise;  and  I 
crossed  the  street,  to  take  the  other  side  this  time. 

And  'twas  lucky  I  did.  I  hadn't  gone  far,  when 
I  saw  a  sign  in  a  window,  and  stopped  to  read  it. 
I  remember  every  word  of  it  to  this  day.  It  said: 

NOTICE  TO  ENTERPRISING  YOUNG  MEN 

The  subscriber  wishes  to  engage  one 
hundred  young  men  to  ascend  the  Mis- 
souri river  to  its  source,  there  to  be  em- 
ployed for  one,  two,  or  three  years.  For 
particulars  inquire  of  Major  Andrew 
Henry,  who  will  ascend  with  and  com- 
mand the  party,  or  of  the  subscriber  near 
St.  Louis. 

WILLIAM  H.  ASHLEY. 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER          37 

General  Ashley!  The  very  man  that  had  the 
fight  with  the  Arickaras!  Go  with  Major  Henry? 
Well,  I  reckoned  I  would;  and  mighty  glad  to  get 
the  chance.  I'd  see  the  General  right  away. 

But  where  could  I  find  him?  "Near  St.  Louis" 
wa'n't  all  I  needed  to  know.  But  I'd  ask  the  first 
white  man  I  met  up  with  that  looked  like  he  was 
friendly.  I  made  up  my  mind  to  that.  Mebby 
Major  Henry  was  handier,  though.  I  turned  to 
read  the  notice  again,  careful;  and  while  I  was  do- 
ing it  a  tall  man  come  up  behind  me  and  stopped. 
I  could  see  him  in  the  window  glass  without  turning 
around.  He  was  a  heap  taller'n  me,  and  his  hair 
was  light  colored  like  mine  but  grayed  some  and 
hung  down  onto  his  shoulders.  He  read  the  notice 
over  my  head,  kinder  spelling  it  out  slow.  Di- 
rectly he  smiled,  and  I  felt  his  hand  on  my  shoulder. 

"Don't  ye  do  it,  son,  don't  ye  do  it,"  he  said,  slow 
and  easy,  like. 

It  sounded  just  like  home-folks,  and  I  turned 
around  quick  to  look  at  him.  Cracky!  I'll  never 
forget  him,  nor  how  he  looked  to  me,  a  plumb 
stranger  and  mighty  nigh  hungry.  I  looked  right 
at  him,  and  mighty  glad  to.  And  he  looked  right 
at  my  eyes,  his'n  gray,  like,  and  warm,  and  not 
stirrin'  a  mite.  He  was  all  dressed  in  buckskin, 
feet  and  all,  and  had  a  red  silk  tied  on  his  head. 
His  long,  fringed  buckskin  coat-shirt  was  all 
worked  with  colored  quills  and  hung  to  his  knees, 
and  he  had  fringed  leggins  and  a  blue  breech-clout 
made  fancy  with  work. 

Directly  his  smile  growed  bigger  and  more  wel- 
come, and  he  leaned  a  little  on  the  longest  rifle  I 
ever  did  see,  but  was  all  of  six  feet  six  inches  tall, 
and  straight  as  a  ramrod.  His  lips  was  thin  and 


38          LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

straight-cut  and  clean  looking,  and  his  face  was 
smooth-shaved  but  marked  pretty  deep  and  plenty 
with  straight  lines.  I  couldn't  look  enough  at  his 
eyes.  They  twinkled  so  and  seemed  to  be  enjoying 
what  was  going  on  inside  me. 

At  last  I  smiled  too.  I  couldn't  he'p  it,  for  his 
eyes  was  mighty  nigh  danein'. 

"Why  not,  Dad?"  I  says,  dropping  my  bundle. 

His  eyes  keened  a  little,  I  thought.  "How'd  you 
know  my  name,  son?"  he  says,  sudden,  like. 

"Didn't." 

"Well,  by  the  shot  that  got  the  meat!  If  that 
ain't  cur'ous.  What's  yer  name,  son?" 

"Elijah  Mounts,"  I  says,  and  right  away  I  re- 
membered I'd  never  said  'Elijah'  before  to  any- 
body, so  I  says,  "But  I  go  by  the  name  of  Lige  al- 
ways." 

"It's  a  good  name,"  he  says.  "Mine's  Wash 
Lamkin,  but  folks  call  me  Dad  up's  far's  the  Black- 
feet  country,  anyway — them  that's  there." 

"But  why  shouldn't  I  look  up  Major  Henry  or 
General  Ashley,  Dad?"  I  asked  him,  itching  to  get 
back  to  me  getting  a  place  and  wondering  what  he 
had  against  them. 

"Mostly  because  it  ain't  a  good  plan  to  be  be- 
holden to  others  in  a  country  where  yer  boss  is  a 
king.  If  ye're  goin'  up  the  river,  better  go  as  a 
freeman,  son,  an'  make  yer  own  trails,  an'  sell  yer 
fur  where  an'  when  ye  please." 

"But  I  haven't  got  any  money,  Dad,"  I  told  him. 
"Not  a  red  cent." 

"Shoo !  that's  different,  I  cal'late,"  he  says.  "A 
heap  different.  Best  come  over  to  my  camp  an' 
hev  a  bite  to  eat.  Mebby  we  kin  strike  a  bargain, 
me  an'  you.  What  say?" 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER          39 

He  started  right  off  like  he  knowed  I'd  come. 
And  I  did.  I  picked  up  my  bundle  and  away  we 
went,  in  and  out  among  the  folks  in  the  street,  past 
taverns  and  stores  and  bull-teams,  noisier'n  ever. 
Once  he  stopped  before  a  tavern.  "Hev  a  little 
somethin'?"  he  says. 

"Nope." 

"Don't  ye  drink,  son?" 

"Nope,"  I  says. 

"Glad  of  it.  My  camp's  up  yonder  by  that  grove 
of  trees,"  and  he  pointed  to  it. 

I  kept  wondering  why  he'd  been  so  good  to  me,  a 
plumb  stranger.  "Mebby  he's  lonesome,  same's 
me,"  I  thought. 

And  then  pretty  soon  we  was  at  his  camp.  It 
was  a  little  buffalo-skin  lodge,  and  Injin-painted 
with  queer  animals — that  is,  queer-done  with  colors, 
I  mean.  There  was  a  man  inside,  and  right  away 
Dad  said,  "Git  a  fire  goin',  Joe,  an'  we'll  eat  a  bite." 

He  didn't  introduce  me,  but  seemed  to  be  think- 
ing while  both  Joe  and  him  got  supper.  I  saw 
everything  was  ready  for  moving.  There  was 
bales  all  made  up  snug  and  nice,  and  piled  around 
the  lodge-wall.  And  outside  was  pack-saddles  and 
Spanish  rigs  they  called  aparajos,  I  found  out  aft- 
erwards. Dad  didn't  talk  none  while  he  fixed  to 
eat,  and  I  looked  around  and  learned  a  lot.  The 
smoke  went  straight  up  and  out  the  top  of  the 
lodge,  like  it  was  a  fireplace ;  but  it  was  hotter'n  all 
time  in  there  for  a  spell.  'Twa'n't  long  before  Dad 
said,  "Set  up — everything's  ready."  And  in  no 
time  at  all  we  was  through  eating. 

Then  he  says  to  me,  "Do  ye  smoke?"  and  I  said 
I  did. 

"Well,  fire  up  an'  we'll  settle  this  thing  quicker'n 


40          LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

scat.  I  got  a  pardner — none  better;  an*  we're 
leavin'  in  the  mornin'.  Leastways,  I  am.  But  he 
ain't  finished  his  spree  yit.  If  he  don't  come  in 
to-night  I'll  leave  him  to  trail  me  up.  It's  high 
time  we  was  jiggin'.  He'll  agree  to  any  bargain  I 
make.  And  here  'tis:  I'll  take  ye  along  an*  outfit 
ye  with  the  understandin*  that  me  an'  my  pard- 
ner's  to  hev  half  yer  ketch  as  long's  we  stay  to- 
gether. That's  short  an*  sweet,  an'  accordin'  to 
right,  if  I  know  it.  What  say?" 

Cracky!  It  was  too  good  to  be  true.  How'd  it 
come  that  he  was  so  mighty  good  an*  free  with  me? 
"Mebby  he  likes  me,"  I  thought.  And  I  sure  liked 
him,  so  I  said,  "I  agree,  Dad.  It's  heaps  more'n 
I  ever  expected,  an'  I'm  obliged  to  you." 

Then  we  shook  hands  on  it,  and  he  says,  "That 
bein'  settled  without  blood-lettin',  we'd  best  go  back 
to  town  an'  git  ye  some  things  ye'll  need,  blankets 
an'  ammunition,  mostly.  What  ye  shootin',  son?" 

"Twenty-eight  to  the  pound,  Dad,"  I  says.  "Will 
it  do,  do  ye  reckon?" 

"I  reckon.    Let's  be  a-jiggirf.    It's  gettin'  late." 

I  felt  mighty  proud  I  owned  my  rifle  now,  more'n 
ever. 

It  was  plumb  dark  a'ready,  mostly  because  of  the 
clouds.  Thunder  was  growling  some,  and  now  and 
then  a  pale,  zig-zag  streak  of  lightning  went  scal- 
lowaggin'  across  the  west,  like  it  does  sometimes 
when  the  weather's  hot.  Down  below  us  hundreds 
and  hundreds  of  little  lights  like  yellow  stars 
showed  where  the  town  was,  and  even  from  where 
I  was  I  could  hear  the  noise  and  some  of  the  music; 
but  'twas  faint  and  suited  me  better'n  being  close. 

Directly  we  was  back  in  the  street  and  'twas  as 
lively's  when  we  left  it — livelier,  I  reckon.  A 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER          41 

group  of  trappers  and  rivermen  was  gathered  about 
three  French  voyageurs  and  a  half-breed  Injin 
dancing  to  the  music  of  a  curious  stringed  instru- 
ment played  by  a  black  looking  Spaniard,  "Of  Man- 
uel Lisa's  crew,"  Dad  said.  The  feller  was  squat- 
ted in  the  street  with  his  back  against  a  tavern, 
and  under  the  light  of  a  lantern  that  looked  like  it 
come  out  of  one  of  Abner  Hastings'  travel  books. 
It  was  hung  from  an  iron  hook  right  over  the  tav- 
ern door.  The  Spaniard's  fingers  was  mighty  nim- 
ble, and  he  picked  quick  tunes  out  of  the  strings 
for  the  dancers.  His  head  was  bound  up  in  green 
silk,  and  now  and  again  he'd  Yip !  to  set  'em  goin' 
right  good. 

Dad  stopped  to  watch,  grinning  like  a  possum, 
and  'twas  enough  to  make  a  body  grin.  But  just 
then  there  come  a  gust  of  wind,  damp  as  frog's 
laigs.  It  swung  the  iron  lantern  till  its  ring 
creaked  like  a  stay-chain,  and  the  candle  in  it  flick- 
ered like  fury  and  mighty  nigh  went  out.  It  thun- 
dered loud,  and  right  away  a  rain  drop  fell  on  my 
hand. 

"I  reckon  we'd  best  be  a-jiggin',"  Dad  said.  And 
we  started,  him  a'lookin'  back  like  he  wished  he 
could  stay  a  spell. 

"I  hanker  to  watch  'em  when  I  can  spare  the 
time,"  he  told  me.  "They're  so  devilful  an'  keer- 
less,  like,"  he  says. 

When  we  got  to  a  place  called  Shipman  and  Com- 
pany, Dad  says,  "Here  we  be."  But  just  as  he  was 
about  to  go  inside,  with  me  following,  somebody 
yelled  out,  "Jest  a  minute,  please!" 

We  turned  around,  and  a  man  run  right  up  to 
me,  pointing  his  finger.  "Is  your  name  Mounts?" 
he  says  taking  hold  of  my  arm. 


42          LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

"Yes,  sir,"  I  says,  wondering  if  I'd  ever  seen  him 
before. 

"Well,  I  want  ye  f er  killin'  Caley  Byers.  Come 
along  o'  me." 

My  heart  just  stopped,  it  seemed.  Then  it  jumped 
and  I  got  my  breath  back.  "I  reckon  you've  made 
some  mistake,"  I  says,  trying  to  hold  my  voice 
stiddy.  "I  saw  Caley  Byers  four  days  ago,  and — " 

"Ha,  ha,  ha!"  the  feller's  laugh  cut  in.  And  it 
was  nasty,  like,  an'  r'iled  me.  "Yes,"  he  says,  "I 
reckon  ye  seen  him,  bein's  how  ye're  s'posed  to  hev 
shot  him  dead  in  Dan's  Clearin'  back  yonder,  jest 
four  days  ago.  Yer  ol'  houn'  dog  was  comin'  out 
of  the  Clearin'  when  Byers'  nigger  found  the  body." 

Then  I  heered  Dad  saying,  "Don't  talk  none,  son 
— not  a  word."  He  took  hold  of  my  other  arm  and 
pinched  hard.  "Take  it  cool,  like,"  he  says.  "Bet- 
ter go  'long  with  the  officer  'thout  fussin'.  Shoo! 
we've  plumb  got  to  hev  law — got  to  hev  it,"  he  says, 
and  I'd  swore  I  saw  him  wink  at  the  officer,  though 
I  wa'n't  dead  sure. 

They  started  to  lead  me  away  out  of  the  light.  I 
didn't  hold  back  none,  but  I  couldn't  make  it  out. 
Caley  Byers  shot  dead!  And  in  Dan's  Clearing! 
Who  could  have  done  it?  I  tried  to  think.  Then 
the  story  the  old  nigger  told  come  into  my  mind, 
the  woman  part  and  all,  like  I'd  heered  it.  And 
right  away  after  that  I  thought  of  the  old  root  in 
Dan's  Clearing — and  the  squirrel,  and  the  owl.  And 
even  my  curious  dream  by  the  hickory  tree  come 
back.  But  they  didn't  tell  me  nothin',  and  I  was 
in  bad  trouble,  mighty  bad. 

I  was  taken  up  for  murder.  And  like's  not  I 
couldn't  prove  I  didn't  kill  Caley  Byers.  We'd  had 
words,  me  and  him.  And  mebby  folks  knowed 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER          43 

about  it.  I  wondered  if  they  did.  I  was  mighty 
glad  now  I'd  never  told  anybody  about  rockin'  him 
in  the  creek.  I  reckoned  it  would  look  like  I'd  shot 
him  easy  enough ;  me  being  in  at  the  Crossing  same 
time  as  him,  and  old  Bugle  coming  through  the 
Clearing  just  when  Byers's  nigger  was  finding  the 
body.  I  shore  wished  now  I  hadn't  got  to  dream- 
ing and  let  Bugle  go  trailing  off  that  a-way.  It 
would  a-meant  a  lot  to  me  now.  I  was  miserable 
worried  and  scared.  The  world  had  changed  for 
me  in  a  minute.  A  little  while  back  I  was  happy — 
so  happy  I  knowed  my  luck  was  too  good  to  be  true. 
I'd  wanted  so  long  and  so  hard  to  go  up  the  river, 
when  up  steps  a  plumb  stranger  and  offers  me  my 
chance.  'Twas  like  a  story  in  one  of  Abner  Hast- 
ings' books,  but  I'd  knowed  it  couldn't  last,  and 
sure  enough  it  hadn't.  Things  like  that  is  all  right 
in  books.  But  directly  they  happen  in  real  life  you 
get  to  thinking  something's  wrong  somehow. 

I  looked  about  me.  It  was  all  dark.  We  had 
left  the  street  and  the  folks.  The  noise  was  all  be- 
hind, and  my  shoulders  was  cold.  Then  I  saw  'twas 
raining  hard,  but  I'd  never4  noticed  before.  Di- 
rectly we  stopped  before  a  sort  of  passage-way  that 
led  in  between  some  dark  stone  buildings  covered 
with  dripping  vines. 

"Here  we  be,"  the  officer  says,  tightening  his  hold 
on  my  arm.  "I'm  obleeged  to  ye,  mister,  fer  yer 
company,"  he  says  to  Dad,  "but  this  is  as  fer  as  ye 
kin  go." 

I  can't  make  you  know  how  that  left  me — cold, 
then  hot,  then  cold  again. 

Dad  says,  cheerful,  like,  "I  reckon  'tis.  It's  fer's 
I'm  hankerin'  to  go,  stranger.  Good-night,  son,"  he 
says,  pattin'  my  shoulder  and  stepping  backward 


44          LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

into  the  shadow  of  the  stone  house.  "He's  gone 
back  on  me,"  I  thought.  And  I  just  wilted. 

But  right  away  I  heered  a  THUD !  and  the  offi- 
cer loosened  his  hold  of  my  arm,  and  fell  in  a  heap. 
Dad's  rifle  had  nigh  busted  his  skull. 

"Come,  son,  let's  be  a-jiggin'."  It  was  Dad  whis- 
pering In  my  ear.  But  I  was  stunned  by  what  he'd 
done,  I  reckon. 

"Come!  this  ain't  no  place  to  loaf  in,"  he  says, 
shaking  me.  And  next  I  knowed  we  was  off 
through  the  driving  rain,  keeping  in  the  shadows 
and  runnin'  away,  like  a  couple  of  bad  ones,  which 
I  reckoned  we  was. 

Dad  knowed  where  he  was  going,  though.  "Here 
we  be,"  he  says,  "as  our  friend  the  officer  said." 
And  he  was  laughing,  low,  and  inside  to  himse'f . 

The  lodge  was  dark  as  all  get  out.  Dad  called 
out,  "Joe!  Joe!  Fetch  in  the  line-back  buckskin 
pony,  an'  saddle  him  with  the  spare  rig.  Shake 
yerse'f!" 

The  man  come  out  with  a  rope,  fetched  in  a  hoss, 
an'  saddled  him  like  lightning. 

"Git  on,  son,"  says  Dad,  handing  up  my  rifle, 
quick's  I  climbed  into  the  saddle.  Then  he  tied  a 
blanket  and  a  sack  of  dried  meat  behind  me,  talk- 
ing slow  all  the  time  he  worked. 

"Now  then,"  he  says,  "git  out  o'  here.  Ride  due 
west  till  ye  strike  the  river.  Then  keep  off'n  the 
trail  that  follers  it,  an'  keep  a-ridin'  stiddy.  Don't 
stop  much  for  two  days.  If  nobody  shows  up  be- 
hind ye  by  that  time,  camp  somewheres  out  o'  sight, 
an*  wait  fer  me.  I'll  be  along  directly.  But  foller 
the  river  after  ye  strike  it,  an*  ride  due  west  till 
ye  do.  Understand,  son?" 

"But  how  about  you,  Dad?    Won't  they  come  and 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER          45 

get  you?  I  never  killed  anybody,  Dad,"  I  says,  half 
turning  the.hoss  around  to  start  off,  but  beginning 
to  think  a  little. 

"Shoo !  I  know  you  never  killed  nobody,  son,"  he 
says,  laying  his  hand  on  my  knee.  "Don't  you  fret 
about  me.  They  won't  never  git  me.  That  man, 
the  officer,  never  did  see  me  before.  An'  what's 
more  he  ain't  never  goin'  to  see  me  agin,  neither. 
Now  off  with  ye,  an'  ride  like  I  tell  ye.  I  never  did 
quit  a  pardner  yit,  son.  Adios!" 

Cracky!  I  felt  small  and  ornery  then,  and  I 
made  up  my  mind  I'd  tell  him,  so  I  out  with,  it. 

"Dad,  I  ain't  been  fair  with  you,"  I  says.  "When 
the  officer  took  me  up  I  thought  you  was  goin'  to 
turn  agin  me.  I — I'd  a-swore  I  saw  you  wink  at 
him  there  by  the  store." 

He  chuckled  and  slapped  my  knee.  "Son,"  he 
says,  "suspicion's  a  cur-dog  an'  bristles  at  shad- 
ders.  Mebby  some  dust  or  somethin'  blowed  in  my 
eye.  Git!" 

And  away  I  went,  feeling  better  and  whiter  right 
away,  but  not  very  clear  in  my  mind. 


CHAPTER  V 

The  wind  and  rain  was  out  of  the  west,  and  I 
couldn't  see  much  farther'n  the  pony's  ears,  it  was 
so  dark.  I  was  headed  west;  and  there  wa'n't  any 
trouble  to  stay  that  way,  only  it  was  hard  on  my 
face.  But  as  long  as  the  rain  and  wind  kept  me 
bending  my  head  for  shelter  I  knowed  I  was  riding 
like  Dad  told  me  to,  due  west.  And  I  was  riding 
fast.  Splashety-splash !  through  puddles  in  the 
road  for  a  spell,  and  then,  to  keep  the  wind  and  go 
west,  leaving  the  trail  and  cutting  across  the  coun- 
try. 

At  first  I  passed  a  few  lodges  lit  up  with  fires 
inside,  and  once  a  cur-dog  run  out  and  barked  sharp 
as  I  shot  past.  The  pony  shied  and  mighty  nigh 
spilled  me,  but  I  hung  on  and  got  straightened  up 
again.  Then  there  was  nothing  after  that,  only 
the  dark  and  the  rain. 

After  a  while  I  got  used  to  it,  and  I  begun  to 
think.  I  saw  right  away  that  I  hadn't  been  fair 
with  my  hoss,  and  I  pulled  him  down  to  mighty 
nigh  a  walk. 

I  was  running  away.  All  of  a  sudden  that  come 
rompin'  into  my  head,  and  I  didn't  like  it.  I  hadn't 
done  nothing  to  run  for.  And  Aunt  Lib'd  be  wor- 
ried and  fret  again  worse'n  ever.  I  mighty  nigh 
turned  around.  Of  course  I  figured  folks'd  reckon 
I  did  kill  Caley  Byers,  because  I'd  run  away.  The 
officer'd  tell  it,  and  tell  folks  about  being  hit,  too,  if 
he  wa'n't  killed  by  the  blow  he  got.  And  he  might 
even  think  'twas  me  that  hit  him.  Yes,  I  reckoned 
he  might  think  that,  if  he  lived  to  think  at  all.  I 
couldn't  say  that  it  wa'n't  me  that  hit  him,  for  that 

46 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER          47 

would  let  Dad  into  the  mess,  and  what  he'd  done 
was  done  to  he'p  me.  To  tell  on  him  would  be 
lower  down  than  a  sheep-killing  shepherd-dog  so  I 
shut  that  clean  out  of  my  reckoning.  If  I  turned 
back  and  give  myse'f  up  I'd  have  to  let  Dad  know 
it  or  he'd  be  looking  for  me  all  the  way  up  the  river; 
and  I  knowed  he  wa'n't  the  kind  that  would  let  me 
take  the  blame  of  hitting  the  officer.  If  he  owned 
up  to  it  himse'f ,  then  he'd  be  in  bad  trouble  account 
of  me.  If  he  hadn't  done  what  he  did  I'd  sure  be  in 
jail  for  something  I  didn't  do,  and  with  no  proof  I 
didn't  do  it.  There  wa'n't  no  way  but  to  run.  And 
that's  the  way  I  settled  it.  I  felt  better,  and  whip- 
ped up  a  bit. 

The  rain  had  mighty  nigh  quit,  and  the  wind,  too, 
for  that  matter.  But  it  was  still  dark  as  all  get 
out.  At  last  I  saw  a  blacker  streak  off  to  my  right 
and  figured  it  was  timber,  so  I  knowed  the  river 
was  over  there.  I  kept  out  of  the  timber,  though, 
and  never  stopped  nor  broke  a  trot,  after  I  whipped 
up  that  time  when  I  settled  what  I'd  best  do. 

By  and  by  the  sky  showed  day  was  coming,  and 
the  wind  freshened  again.  But  I  didn't  need  it 
now,  for  I  knowed  as  soon's  'twas  light  enough  I'd 
see  the  river.  And  sure  enough,  when  day  come 
on,  there  it  was.  I  rode  into  a  grove  where  the 
trees  was  thick  and  where  there  was  an  open  park, 
not  far  from  the  water.  The  cottonwoods  was 
plenty  and  thick  all  about  it,  and  I  was  sure  nobody 
could  see  me  from  the  trail.  It  was  more'n  a  hun- 
dred yards  back,  and  I'd  crossed  it  coming  into  the 
grove. 

I  got  down  and  took  off  the  saddle.  The  pony 
wa'n't  het  up  none,  nor  tired.  I  never  saw  any- 
thing like  it.  Soon's  I  got  the  saddle  off  and  staked 


48          LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

him,  down  he  went  and  rolled  and  rolled.  Then,  up 
he  got  and  shook  himse'f  like  a  wet  dog  and  went 
to  eating  the  grass  like  he  was  afraid  we  wa'n't 
going  to  stay  but  a  minute.  Cracky !  I  was  proud 
of  that  little  hoss,  and  I  patted  his  neck  and  told 
him  so;  but  he  didn't  skip  a  mouthful  of  grass. 

I  got  out  my  sack  of  dried  meat  and  slipped  up 
on  a  knoll-like  place  where  it  was  sunny  and  I 
could  dry  out  and  eat  while  the  little  hoss  was  rest- 
ing and  filling  up.  It  turned  out  to  be  a  fine  morn- 
ing, and  when  the  sun  got  warm  the  timber  steamed 
and  so  did  my  clothes.  I  was  feeling  fine.  I  could 
see  the  river  winding  through  timbered  patches 
and  meadow-places  partly  covered  now  with  water. 
Drift  logs  was  coming  down,  and  I  wondered  how 
far  up  they'd  been  when  the  river  washed  them  off 
bars  or  banks,  or  up-rooted  them  off  its  shores;  for 
some  of  them  had  green  tops  and  was  alive.  It 
was  a  mighty  big  river — as  big,  it  seemed  to  me,  as 
the  Mississippi  at  St.  Louis — and  I  could  follow  its 
course  for  miles  and  miles  by  the  fringe  of  timber 
and  the  bluffs.  Sometimes  a  bluff  would  seem  to  be 
standing  right  crosswise  of  the  stream,  like  it  was 
disputing  its  way — the  way  it  would  most  likely 
have  come  if  it  hadn't  been  for  the  bluff. 

Somehow,  that  fetched  my  trouble  back.  I 
hadn't  wanted  to  go  like  I  did.  I  was  forced  into 
it  by  things  I  couldn't  handle  and  had  no  hand  in 
making  neither.  Mebby  the  river  had  easy  sailing 
farther  up  and  could  go  straight  the  way  it  wanted 
to  go — the  way  I  wanted  to  go — but  the  river  was 
coming  down  to  St.  Louis,  and  I  was  going  up 
stream  and  away — running  away,  at  that.  I  got  to 
fretting  again.  But  when  I  remembered  how  Dad 
believed  I  was  doing  right,  I  felt  better  and  got  to 
watching  the  drift  logs  again. 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER          49 

All  of  a  sudden  I  saw  the  smoke  of  a  camp  fire, 
flimsy  and  thin,  and  blue  as  a  clematis  flower, 
come  trailing  out  through  the  tops  of  the  trees  on  a 
bend  'way  up  the  river.  I  figured  the  fire  was 
fresh-built  by  the  way  the  smoke  climbed  up  in  the 
still  air.  I  wondered  if  anybody  was  after  me  and 
had  got  past  that  far;  but  Shucks!  they  wouldn't 
have  made  camp,  noway,  if  they  was  after  a  body. 
So  I  went  back  to  watching  the  drift  logs. 

It  was  mighty  nigh  noon  and  hot.  I  moved  into 
the  shade,  for  my  clothes  was  dry  and  the  sun  was 
uncomfortable.  You  can  stand  it  when  you're  mov- 
ing, but  to  sit  still  and  roast  is  too  much.  I  hadn't 
much  more'n  got  fixed  when  I  heard  singing.  Di- 
rectly I  saw  two  big  mackinaw  boats  coming  down 
the  river.  Cracky!  I  slipped  down  past  the  little 
hoss  and  found  me  a  place  in  the  bushes  close  to  the 
river  where  I  could  see  better.  And  along  they 
come,  piled  with  bales  of  fur  and  buffalo  robes  and 
dried  meat.  Their  crews  was  singing  French 
songs  and  was  happy  as  young  kittens.  There  was 
plenty  of  color  about  their  heads  and  waists;  but 
the  silks  was  soiled  and  the  sashes  black  with 
grease  and  dirt.  And  I  knowed  they'd  buy  new 
ones  the  minute  they  got  to  St.  Louis — most  likely 
before  they  ate  or  washed  up. 

In  a  minute  they  was  past ;  and  the  though^  come 
to  me  that  their  journey  was  mighty  nigh  ended. 
That  took  hold  of  me;  for  St.  Louis  wa'n't  far  off— 
not  half  far  enough,  so  I  saddled  up  and  lit  out. 

I  made  up  my  mind  if  I  didn't  see  anybody  com- 
ing by  the  next  afternoon,  I'd  stop  and  hide  out  to 
wait  for  Dad. 

I  crossed  the  trail  twice  that  afternoon,  and  it 
was  well-worn  and  plain,  but  I  didn't  follow  it — 


50          LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

not  once.  Along  in  the  afternoon  I  caught  the  flash 
of  a  red  blanket  over  near  where  I  knowed  the  trail 
to  be,  and  once  I  heered  a  hoss  whinny.  When  I 
listened,  he  whinnied  again  but  farther  down  the 
river,  so  I  knowed  whoever  was  riding  wa'n't  look- 
ing for  me.  And  I  figured  the  rider  wa'n't  alone, 
but  with  a  passel  of  loose  hosses,  because  a  lone 
hoss  don't  often  whinny.  So  I  figured  it  was  In j  ins 
and  kept  going. 

A  little  after  that  I  heered  hosses  again — heaps 
of  them,  and  saw  a  big  band  of  In  j  ins  going  along 
the  trail.  I  could  just  see  them  through  the  trees 
and  brush;  but  there  must  have  been  more'n  fifty, 
all  headed  for  St.  Louis.  I  reckoned  white  folks 
mostly  traveled  by  river  and  only  the  In  j  ins  used 
the  trail.  I  wondered  why  Dad  did — but  I  was  sure 
he  knowed  what  he  was  about. 

The  sun  was  getting  down  pretty  well,  and  I  was 
glad  for  two  reasons — I  hadn't  seen  anybody  look- 
ing for  me,  and  it  was  cooler.  At  last  it  begun  to 
darken  up;  but  the  sky  was  clear  and  I  stayed  off 
of  the  trail  and  kept  going,  not  fast,  but  a  trot  the 
pony  liked — a  right  smart  gait,  if  kept  up  stiddy. 
I  could  see  the  pony  was  tiring  some,  but  I  didn't 
stop  till  I  see  it  was  getting  day  again.  Then  I 
rode  into  another  grove  quite  a  ways  from  the  trail 
but  not  far  from  the  river,  and  staked  the  hoss. 
He  rolled  and  begun  to  eat  right  away  like  he  was 
used  to  it  Cracky !  I'd  seen  hosses,  but  none  like 
him. 

I  got  out  my  meat  sack  and  filled  up,  but  was 
tired  out  and  layed  down  by  a  big  drift  log  that 
high  water  had  left  some  time  when  there  was 
mighty  nigh  a  flood.  That's  the  last  I  knowed  till 
I  felt  the  sunlight  on  my  face. 


CHAPTER  VI 

I  sat  up.  For  a  minute  I  didn't  know  where  I 
was. 

"Good  afternoon,  son." 

Cracky!  I  jumped  up,  and  there  was  Dad,  sit- 
ting on  the  log  with  that  old  long  rifle  across  his 
knees. 

I  was  plumb  ashamed.  "How'd  you  find  me? 
How  long  you  been  here?"  I  says,  brushing  off  my 
breeches. 

He  begun  to  laugh,  that  inside  kind  of  his. 
"Find  ye!"  he  says,  sarcastic  like.  "Why  you're 
as  easy  to  locate  as  a  dead  hoss  in  August.  I  been 
waitin'  for  ye  to  hev  yer  nap  out  fer  more'n  an 
hour.  Son,  ye're  keerless ;  but  ye'll  git  over  it  soon. 
If  ye  don't,  yer  hair'll  be  adornin'  some  Injin's  belt 
in  the  country  we're  headin'  for.  Eat  a  bite  now, 
an'  we'll  be  a-jiggin'.  I  reckon  it's  best  to  let  old 
Bill  an'  the  camp-keeper  fetch  up  the  outfit.  Bill 
overtook  us  last  night,  so  I  thought  I'd  best  look  ye 
up.  I'll  saddle  yer  hoss  while  ye  eat  a  bite.  Then 
we'll  be  jiggin'." 

He'd  fetched  some  corn  bread  and  give  it  to  me. 
When  we  started,  after  a  little,  he  turned  into  the 
trail.  "We'll  foller  it,"  he  says.  "We  kin  travel 
faster,  an'  there  ain't  much  danger,  for  if  trouble 
comes,  it  must  hit  old  Bill  first.  He'll  find  a  way 
to  turn  it  back,  or  send  us  word  it's  comin'  towards 
us.  I  cal'late  to  make  a  p'int  above  here  a  piece 
where  we  can  rest  the  hosses  for  a  night.  Then 
we'll  go  on  a  few  days  more,  an'  wait  fer  the  out- 
fit to  come  along." 

51 


52          LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

It  was  good  to  be  with  Dad.  I  wa'n't  worried 
any  more.  Seemed  as  though  I'd  knowed  him  all 
my  life.  I  was  sure  ashamed  of  myse'f  for  think- 
ing he'd  turned  against  me  that  time  in  St.  Louis — 
and  I  did  wish  he  hadn't  caught  me  asleep.  That 
pestered  me. 

"How  old  be  ye,  son?"  he  asked  me  after  a  spell. 

"Nineteen  next  month,"  I  said. 

"Run  away?" 

"Nope,"  I  says.  "My  father  an'  mother's  both 
dead.  I  been  livin'  with  my  mother's  sister,  nigh 
Coon  Creek  Crossin*  since  I  was  a  little  feller." 

"Where  was  ye  born?" 

"Kentucky,"  I  says. 

"So  was  I,  son.     An'  I'm  fifty-seven." 

"Dad,"  I  says,  riding  close  up,  "do  you  reckon  I 
can  get  to  write  a  letter  back?" 

"Well,  I  cal'late  it  could  be  done  from  the  Fort 
when  we  git  to  it.  But  that's  the  Ashley-Henry 
Post  at  the  mouth  of  the  Yellowstone,  an'  a  long 
ways  yit.  They  ain't  no  danger  of  'em  takin'  ye 
up  as  long's  ye  stay  up  the  river,  noway.  Rest 
easy,  son." 

I  bet  I'd  write  that  letter  the  first  chance  I  got. 
I  was  beginning  to  think  of  Aunt  Lib  again.  She'd 
be  fretting  now,  I  knowed.  Mebby  by  now,  or  to 
morrow,  anyway,  she'd  hear  what  happened  to  the 
officer  and  mebby  believe  I  done  it.  And  suppose 
she'd  think  I'd  done  the  other — killed  Caley  Byers. 
But  I  was  dead  sure  she'd  never  believe  that — not 
if  Joshua  Moulds  swore  to  it  on  a  stack  of  Bibles 
higher'n  he  was. 

But  I  reckoned  I  couldn't  ever  go  back  now.  I 
hadn't  thought  about  that  before. 

"Dad,"   I   says,   directly,   "I   can't  figure   Caley 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER          53 

Byers  is  killed;  but  if  he  is,  they'll  likely  find  out 
who  killed  him,  'cause  murder  will  out,  I've  always 
heered." 

"I've  heered  it  lots  o*  times,  too,"  he  says,  filling 
his  pipe  out  of  a  quill-worked  pouch.  "An*  mebby 
it's  true;  but  I  never  believed  it,"  he  says.  "Kil- 
lin's  are  mighty  bad  things,  mostly,  but  o*  course 
all  of  'em  ain't  murders  no  more'n  all  Injins  are 
liars." 

We  pulled  up  so's  he  could  light  his  pipe,  and 
when  he'd  got  out  his  flint  and  steel  and  got  fire  he 
says:  "In  the  country  where  we're  headin'  for 
every  man  makes  his  own  laws,  an'  while  some  of 
'em's  bad  ones,  it's  sartin  that  any  well-balanced 
human  knows  mighty  well  when  he's  treadin'  on 
other  folks'  rights  an'  when  he's  doin'  dirty  work. 
Though  jest  knowin'  it  don't  keep  'em  off  always. 
I  figger  a  man  that  stays  right  with  himse'f  giner- 
ally  respects  the  rights  of  others  and  don't  bother 
his  neighbors.  But  neighbors,  the  best  of  'em,  will 
crowd,  sometimes,  if  ye  let  'em.  Crowdin'  "  he  says, 
"is  a  heap  like  a  louse:  give  it  liberty,  an'  first  ye 
know  ye  hev  to  go  at  it  an'  make  a  cleanin'.  Never 
crowd,  son,  'less  ye  intend  to  play  the  last  card  in 
yer  hand — even  if  ye  know  somebody's  liable  to  hev 
to  set  up  with  ye  fer  a  spell,  afterwards." 

I  knowed  he  was  right.  And  I  made  up  my 
mind  I  never  would  crowd,  'less  I  had  it  to  do,  and 
knowed  it. 

But  I'd  always  heered  that  murder  would  out, 
and  believed  it.  Now  Dad  said  he  didn't  believe  it, 
and  that  set  me  to  thinking.  If  it  didn't  out,  then 
how'd  folks  ever  know  I  didn't  kill  Caley  Byers? 
Then  I  says,  "Well,  mostly,  I  believe  murder  does 


54          LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

out.  If  it  don't  I'm  in  a  bad  fix,  'cause  Caley  Byers 
and  I  wa'n't  friends,  and  maybe  folks  knowed  it." 

"Shoo!  if  we  killed  all  the  folks  we  didn't  like 
the  American  trappers  an'  traders  wouldn't  be 
bothered  none  with  Hudson's  Bay  men,  I  cal'late. 
No  call  to  worry  'bout  that,  son,  none  'tall." 

I  reckoned  he  was  only  trying  to  he'p  me  stop 
fretting.  Then  like  lightning  a  thought  that  nigh 
took  my  breath  away  come  to  me.  Mebby  he 
thought  I  did  kill  Caley  Byers,  and  all  the  time  he 
did  know  murder  would  out.  I  looked  up  at  him 
quick,  and  felt  the  blood  hot  on  my  ears.  But  he 
was  looking  ahead  on  the  trail,  and  there  wa'n't  a 
thing  like  I  was  afraid  of  in  his  eyes.  I  couldn't 
make  it  out  noway ;  but  I  couldn't  leave  it  like  that. 

"Dad,"  I  says,  in  a  minute,  "I've  heered  a  yarn 
about  Caley  Byers,  and  there  was  a  woman  in  it," 
I  says.  "It  come  up  from  the  South  with  an  old 
nigger  that  died  at  Coon  Creek — a  nigger  that  be- 
longed to  Caley  Byers." 

He  pulled  up  to  a  walk.  "Tell  me  the  yarn,"  he 
says. 

"It  ain't  much  to  tell,"  I  says,  "but  it  seems  like 
there  was  an  old  family  named  Sessions  that  had 
lived  on  a  big  plantation  since  before  the  war  and 
generations  before  Caley  Byers'  father  come  there 
and  bought  a  piece  of  bottom  land  that  joined 
theirs  and  went  to  raising  hosses.  The  Sessionses 
was  a  big  family,  and  quality  folks  that  didn't  have 
any  use  for  the  Byerses,  for  some  reason  that 
started  early  after  they'd  become  neighbors. 

"Anyway,  Caley  run  plumb  wild  with  the  hosses, 
traveling  with  them  and  racing  with  them  and 
spending  money  like  all  get  out,  till  he  was  talked 
about  a  heap.  And  he  hated  the  Sessionses  like 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER          55 

p'ison — all  but  Lucy  Ann,  the  youngest  girl,  who 
liked  him.  She  was  mighty  afraid  her  father 
would  find  it  out,  and  she  used  to  meet  Caley  of 
nights  fer  a  spell.  Then  one  day  they  was  both 
gone.  Nobody  knowed  where,  till  old  man  Ses- 
sions got  a  letter  from  York  State.  Lucy  Ann  was 
mighty  sick  and  Caley  Byers  had  run  off  and  left 
her  with  only  a  note  that  said  for  her  to  go  back 
home  and  learn  her  folks  to  respect  their  neigh- 
bors. That's  what  the  old  nigger  told,  nigh  as  I 
can  remember,"  I  says. 

"Folks  knowed  the  yarn  and  talked  about  it,  did 
they?"  he  says,  putting  away  his  pipe. 

"Yes,"  I  told  him.  "Women  folks,  and  men. 
But  they  never  knowed  any  more  than  what  I've 
told,  I  reckon." 

"No,  likely  not,"  he  says.  Then,  directly,  like 
he'd  plumb  settled  it  in  his  mind,  he  says,  "That's 
it,  son.  Some  of  his  old  neighbors  got  him,  and 
likely  he'd  lived  too  long,  as  it  was.  There  ain't 
no  call  to  worry,  son;  none  'tall.  They  cain't  pes- 
ter ye  as  long  as  we  stay  up  the  river,  an'  by  the 
time  we  get  back  it's  likely  they'll  know  more  about 
it.  If  they  don't,  and  pester  ye,  I'll  stand  by  ye. 
I  never  did  quit  a  pardner  yet,  son,  noway." 

I  felt  better.  I  was  sure  now  he  didn't  think  it 
was  me  killed  Caley  Byers;  and  he'd  mighty  nigh 
admitted  that  murder  would  out.  So  I  dropped  it 
and  says,  "Do  the  Hudson's  Bay  men  trouble 
much?" 

"Yes,  they  do,"  he  says.  "They  are  stealin'  this 
territory,  or  tryin'  to.  They  keep  the  Blackfeet 
agin'  us.  I'm  sure  of  that.  They're  Britishers, 
too,  an'  belong  over  the  line,  but  they  don't  stay 
there;  an'  there'll  be  trouble  over  it  yit." 


56         LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

Trouble !  It  seemed  like  it  was  to  be  found  every- 
where. I  thought  of  my  own  again.  "Dad,"  I 
says,  "do  you  reckon  you  killed  that  officer?" 

"Shoo !  no.  His  head'll  be  sore  f er  a  day  or  such 
a  matter,  that's  all.  I  didn't  go  fer  to  kill  him,  no- 
way— Yonder's  a  turkey!  Kill  him,  son,  an*  we'll 
hev  him  fer  supper." 

I  got  down  off  my  hoss,  an*  was  drawing  a  bead 
on  the  neck  down  close  to  his  breast,  when  Dad 
whispers,  "Head  or  no  meat,  son — head  or  no  meat," 
and  I  pulled  down  on  the  gobbler's  old  red  head 
mighty  careful.  Bow!  she  went.  And  I  see  right 
away  I'd  done  it  slick.  But  Dad  didn't  say  any- 
thing. He  just  got  down  and  picked  up  the  turkey 
while  I  was  loading  up. 

We  only  took  the  best  part  of  him  and  then  went 
on  again.  The  country  was  changing  some,  I  could 
see,  and  the  river,  when  we  was  near  it,  was  pret- 
tier'n  ever.  There  was  heaps  of  ducks  and  wild 
geese  in  nigh  every  bend,  and  I  begun  to  spot  big 
nests  in  trees — old  snags  of  trees,  mostly.  They 
was  built  of  good-sized  sticks  and  looked  rough  and 
ornery.  Dad  said  they  was  goose  nests.  At  first 
I  thought  he  was  joking  me,  but  he  wa'n't.  He 
never  did  joke  that  way,  never.  He  said  the  nests 
was  likely  built  by  fish-hawks,  mostly,  but  that  the 
geese  took  them  over  and  used  them.  I'd  never 
heered  of  geese  nesting  in  trees.  It  didn't  sound 
just  right;  so  I  asked  him  how  in  the  nation  the 
young  goslings  got  out  of  the  nests  without  killing 
theirse'fs.  He  said  the  old  goose  packed  them  out 
when  the  time  come.  And  that's  the  truth.  I've 
seen  them  do  it  many  a  time  since  then.  And  all 
the  way  up  the  river  we  saw  the  nests  in  the  old 
lone  snags  along  the  river  banks.  I  figured  it  out 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER          57 

why  the  geese  nested  in  the  trees,  and  'twas  plain 
and  good  sense.  The  varmi'ts  bothered  a  heap  on 
the  ground,  and  aside  from  eagles  nothing's  got  any 
business  in  the  air  with  an  old  wild  goose.  They're 
smart's  a  whip,  too. 

It  was  after  sundown  when  Dad  left  the  trail. 
He  headed  straight  north  from  it  and  the  river  for 
a  spell.  Then  he  turned  into  a  thick  grove  of  quak- 
ing aspens  where  there  was  a  cold  spring  of  water 
and  a  mighty  snug  place  to  camp,  and  got  down. 

"Git  a  fire  goin',  son,"  he  said.  "I'll  stake  the 
hosses.  Then  we'll  eat." 

Dad  fixed  the  turkey  finer'n  any  I'd  ever  tasted, 
and  it  didn't  take  him  any  time  at  all.  I  ate  all  I 
could  hold  and  felt  fine,  and  sleepy  as  all  time.  Dad 
went  out  to  look  at  the  hosses  before  he  laid  down, 
and  I  never  saw  nor  heered  him  come  back.  I  was 
sound  asleep  by  the  time  he  got  out  to  them,  I 
reckon. 

But  I  dreamt  a  heap.  Aunt  Lib  was  fretting  all 
through  my  dreams  and  Caley  Byers  and  Bugle  and 
Joshua  Moulds  was  all  tangled  up,  so  there  wa'n't  no 
sense  to  them — nothing  straight  or  connected,  like. 
I  heered  Dad  get  up  once  and  slip  out  to  see  if  the 
hosses  was  all  right,  but  I  never  heered  him  come 
back.  He  always  got  up  and  snooped  around  the 
hosses  every  night  like  it  was  a  habit,  and  I  reck- 
oned it  was. 

It  wa'n't  quite  day  when  he  kindled  the  fire,  and 
I  got  up  and  fetched  in  the  hosses  while  he  got 
ready  a  bite  to  eat.  In  no  time,  we  was  back  on 
the  trail,  sailing  along  on  the  little  Injin  trot  the 
hosses  liked  and  could  keep  up  for  a  coon's  age. 

We  didn't  stop  till  'way  after  noon.  I  killed  an- 
other turkey — the  only  one  we'd  seen  that  day.  We 


58          LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

was  out  of  the  turkey  country,  Dad  said,  and  it  was 
the  last  we  saw.  Dad  cooked  it  good,  and  we  had 
him  for  supper.  But  I  was  plumb  tired  again  and 
went  right  to  sleep  and  slept  good  till  morning, 
when  we  was  off  again  on  the  same  old  trot. 

The  country  was  a  heap  different  now.  Trees 
was  getting  scarcer  and  scarcer  and  the  river  wa'n't 
quite  so  big  and  was  some  swifter  and  not  so 
muddy.  Dad  said  he  reckoned  we  could  make  the 
place  he  figured  on  stopping  at  to  wait  for  the  out- 
fit, if  we  traveled  right  smart.  And  we  did ;  though 
it  was  plumb  dark  when  we  got  there.  Dad  staked 
the  hosses  and  we  just  ate  a  cold  snack  and  went  to 
sleep  without  any  fuss  of  fixing  things. 

Dad  was  up  and  gone  when  I  woke,  and  it  was 
quite  a  spell  before  he  come  back.  I  got  a  fire  go- 
ing and  slipped  out  to  the  river  and  shot  a  goose  for 
breakfast.  He  was  tougher'n  all  get  out,  but  we 
managed  to  eat  him,  or  part  of  him.  Then  Dad  and 
I  made  a  brush-lodge  down  by  the  river  in  the  pret- 
tiest spot  there  was,  and  begun  to  wait  for  the  out- 
fit to  come.  We  set  around  in  the  shade  and  smoked 
and  talked.  Dad  talked  to  me  right  sociable  all  the 
time.  He  told  one  story  after  another,  and  it  wa'n't 
long  before  I  knowed  Captain  Lewis  and  Captain 
Clark  hadn't  lied  in  that  book  of  Biddle's.  He 
wouldn't  talk  much  about  Injin  fights — brushes,  he 
called  them.  But  he'd  had  a  lot  of  them,  I  could 
see.  He'd  been  on  the  plains  for  years  and  years 
and  said  he  couldn't  see  any  change  yet.  That 
made  me  glad.  I  was  afraid  I  was  too  late  to  see 
them  like  they  ought  to  be.  I  said  so,  and  that 
tickled  him  a-plenty. 

That  evening  Dad  slipped  out  and  fetched  in  a 
deer  and  we  had  a  big  feast.  I  slept  hard  and  was 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER          59 

plumb  rested  when  morning  come,  and  Dad  was 
humming  to  himse'f  like  he  felt  mighty  fit,  too. 

Along  towards  noon  here  comes  two  big  macki- 
naws  down  the  river,  loaded  like  the  ones  I  saw  the 
first  day.  The  crew  was  singing,  too,  like  the  other 
fellows,  and  I  watched  them  sail  past  without  hid- 
ing out. 

Then  the  next  afternoon  along  come  a  keel-boat. 
She  was  going  up  the  river,  creeping  close  to  the 
other  shore  like  she  was  having  a  hard  time  with 
the  current.  Thirty  men  was  towing  her  by  a  long 
thick  rope,  and  they  was  singing  like  birds.  It 
was  a  monster  boat,  more'n  seventy  feet  long  and 
loaded  down,  with  trade  goods  and  high  wines,  Dad 
said.  There  was  a  spar  up  near  the  boat's  prow, 
and  the  tow-line  was  made  fast  to  its  top.  Then 
the  line  was  passed  from  that  down  and  through 
an  iron  ring  tied  to  a  short  piece  of  rope  right  in 
her  bow  before  it  went  ashore  to  the  men.  It  was 
a  queer  rig,  and  a  queer  way  of  handling  a  boat,  I 
thought.  But  she  went  along  steady  to  the  French 
tunes,  and  I  watched  her  till  she  went  out  of  sight 
around  the  bend  above  camp.  It  looked  like  a  hard 
job  to  pull  a  big  heavy  boat  loaded  with  freight  up 
the  river;  but  everybody  appeared  happy  about  it. 
"Do  they  always  sing  that  way,  Dad?"  I  asked  him, 
after  the  boat  was  gone  and  only  the  tune  was  scal- 
lowaggin'  back  through  the  trees. 

"Mighty  apt  to  sing  when  they've  got  the  breath 
to  do  it,  son,"  he  says.  "But  they're  a  bunch  of  old 
women  in  a  fight,  mostly.  One  of  'em's  worth  two 
or  three  of  our  kind  on  the  river,  but  when  it  comes 
to  burnin'  powder,  they  won't  stand  without  hitch- 
in'.  They're  a  people  by  themse'fs,  them  fellers, 
an'  they  git  along  with  the  In j ins  a  heap  better 'n 


60          LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

most  folks  does,  too.  Give  'em  an  axe  or  a  canoe- 
paddle  or  a  pole,  an*  they  can  work  circles  around 
us,  but  we  beat  'em  all  holler  when  guns  bark." 

There  was  nothing  to  do  only  look  at  the  river 
and  watch  the  logs  coming  down  after  that;  but  I 
didn't  tire  of  it.  Nobody  come  along  the  trail  either 
way,  until  late  in  the  afternoon  of  the  fourth  day, 
when  here  come  our  outfit — ten  loaded  mules  and 
three  loose  hosses,  besides  the  ones  the  men  was 
riding. 

Cracky !  I  never  did  see  such  a  sight.  Here  they 
come  stringing  along  one  behind  the  other  in  the 
trail  and  loaded  down  with  goods.  Some  had  big, 
bulky  loads  and  some  had  little,  or  none  at  all,  it 
looked  like.  Some  of  the  packs  was  round  and 
others  was  lumpy  and  looked  lop-sided,  though  they 
wa'n't  because  they  balanced.  I  could  see  that  they 
did  when  the  hosses  walked.  First  come  Bill,  then 
a  mare,  then  the  mules,  and  last  Joe,  the  camp- 
tender.  It  was  a  sight.  Here  and  there  an  axe 
handle  showed,  or  the  barrel  of  a  trade-gun  poked 
out  from  under  a  mantle;  and  all  was  rocking  even 
and  swinging  light  and  fine,  as  the  mules  followed 
up  the  trail  behind  Bill  and  the  mare.  The  loads 
looked  as  though  they'd  been  put  on  mighty  care- 
less, but  I  knowed  they  wa'n't,  or  they  wouldn't 
have  balanced  nor  stayed.  I  made  up  my  mind  I'd 
learn  how  to  do  it,  for  I  knowed  it  was  a  big  trick. 

Directly  Bill  stopped  at  our  camp.  Then  the 
mare  stopped,  and  every  mule  stopped  in  his  tracks 
when  she  did.  Dad  stepped  up,  and  without  even  a 
"howdy,"  begun  to  unpack,  while  I  watched. 

In  a  jiffy  the  first  mule's  pack  was  on  the  ground 
and  he  was  off  and  rolling  fit  to  kill  himse'f .  Then 
up  walks  another.  Slam!  his  pack  was  off,  and  he 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER          61 

went  out  and  rolled  right  in  the  spot  where  the  first 
had  rolled.  Then  another  and  another,  was  un- 
loaded, and  so  quick  the  mules  had  to  wait  for  the 
one  ahead  of  them  on  the  rolling-spot  to  get  up, 
before  they  could  lay  down  to  roll.  I  never  did  see 
the  beat.  A  body'd  think  there  was  a  law  against 
rolling  any  place  else  but  in  that  very  spot  the  first 
mule  picked.  And  I  reckon  it  is  a  law — a  mule- 
law,  because  they  never  break  it.  I  reckon  a  mule 
would  be  afraid  of  bad  luck  if  he  didn't  roll  where 
his  partner  did.  I  thought  the  first  mule  had  away 
the  best  of  it.  He  could  pick  the  rolling  spot,  and 
if  he  was  spiteful  he  could  play  even  with  an  enemy 
by  picking  out  a  bad  place  and  just  pretending  to 
roll.  It  was  queer.  Dad  said  burros  did  the  same 
thing — said  it  was  a  jackass  trait,  anyway. 

Everybody  knowed  just  what  to  do  and  did  it — 
all  except  me;  and  I  looked  on.  In  no  time  the 
packs  was  all  piled  neat  and  close,  but  not  mixed 
up.  I  mean  loads  was  kept  separate,  so  their  parts 
could  go  together  again  without  fussing  to  fix  them 
over.  I  soon  saw  the  smallest  looking  ones  was 
heavier'n  they  seemed. 

Directly  the  camp-keeper  went  off  with  the  hosses 
and  mules.  He  staked  the  mare,  hobbled  the  loose 
hosses  and  the  saddle  animals,  but  left  the  mules  to 
run  loose.  It  was  done  so  quick  and  so  slick  I 
couldn't  see  how  they  managed  so  good.  Dad  had 
pitched  in  the  minute  they  come,  and  now  he  was 
wiping  the  sweat  off' n  his  face  and  laughing. 

Directly  he  says,  "Bill,  this  here's  the  boy  I  was 
tellin'  ye  'bout.  An'  Lige,"  he  says  to  me,  "this 
here's  my  pardner  an'  yours,  Bill  Hanks." 

Bill  shook  hands  warm,  like.  "Howdy,"  he  says. 
"I  like  yer  looks.  Bet  me  an'  you  gits  along  good." 


62          LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

I  liked  Bill  soon's  i  saw  him.  And  I  liked  him 
better  every  day  after  that.  He  wa'n't  nigh  so  tall 
as  Dad — not  quite  so  tail's  me — and  I  could  see  he 
wa'n't  so  smart's  Dad  was,  but  good  clean  to  the 
bone.  His  face  was  kinder  fat  and  his  eyes  was  red 
some ;  but  he  was  likelier  to  laugh  than  Dad.  He'd 
laugh  sometimes  when  I  couldn't  see  anything 
worth  while.  I  saw  that  Dad  tied  to  him;  so  I 
knowed  right  away  he  was  better'n  he  looked.  But 
beside  Dad  he  seemed  stout  and  fat  and  not  half 
so  quick  on  his  feet,  though  he  was  younger,  I 
judged  by  mighty  nigh  ten  years.  His  hair  was 
black,  but  grayer'n  Dad's  and  not  so  long  nor  thick. 
When  he  took  off  his  head  silk  that  night  I  saw  he 
was  getting  bald  on  the  top  of  his  head. 

After  a  little  Joe  come  in  from  taking  care  of 
the  stock.  I'd  seen  him  in  Dad's  lodge  in  St.  Louis, 
and  I'd  a-knowed  him  anywhere.  When  he  come 
up  to  the  fire,  Dad  says,  "Joe,  this  is  Lige  Mounts, 
our  new  pardner,  and,  Lige  Mounts,  this  here's  Joe 
Dent,  our  skinner  an'  camp-keeper." 

We  shook  hands.  Joe  was  a  little  man,  and  quick- 
moving.  He  had  the  nicest  eyes  I  ever  see  in  a 
man's  head,  except  Dad's.  They  was  blue  as  a 
robin's  egg  and  not  one  mite  shifty.  He  was 
younger'n  Dad  or  Bill — round  thirty  somewheres,  I 
judged — and  slender-built.  He  never  had  much  to 
say,  speaking  when  he  did  in  a  voice  a  heap  like 
Dad's,  quiet,  like,  and  sure.  He  had  a  scar  on  his 
right  cheek,  straight  and  about's  wide's  my  little 
finger.  It  run  clean  across  his  cheek  from  a  mite 
above  his  mouth.  I  figured  I'd  ask  him  how  he  got 
it,  but  I  never  did.  Dad  said  he'd  never  asked  him, 
but  he  reckoned  it  was  a  bullet-crease.  It  sure 
looked  like  it,  and  I  reckon  'twas,  and  proof  that 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 


63 


he'd  been  shot  at,  once,  anyway,  and  mighty  nigh 
got,  at  that. 

We  had  a  big  supper  with  tea  and  bread  and 
meat  and  corn  syrup  and  all.  Cracky !  but  it  tasted 
good,  and  I  filled  up  a-plenty.  Then  we  smoked  a 
while  and  everybody  talked — all  but  me;  and  I  lis- 
tened. Directly  Joe  went  out  to  look  after  the 
stock,  and  Dad  went  over  to  the  packs  and  when  he 
come  back  to  the  fire,  handed  me  a  bundle  of  clothes. 

"I  found  these  among  my  possibles  an'  fixin's," 
he  says.  "Better  put  'em  on  in  the  mornin'.  They'll 
make  ye  look  more  like  ye  belonged  to  the  outfit, 
anyway." 


CHAPTER  VII 

Cracky!  I  was  glad  to  get  the  clothes  Dad  give 
me.  I  looked  them  over  right  away,  though  it  was 
dark  and  I  couldn't  see  very  good.  They  was  quill- 
worked  like  Dad's,  only  not  so  much.  I  reckoned 
they'd  be  pretty  big  for  me ;  but  I  knowed  buckskin 
kept  gettin'  longer  and  longer  when  you  wore  it,  so 
nobody  would  think  anything  of  it,  even  if  we  met 
up  with  anybody,  which  I  didn't  reckon  on  much. 

It  must  have  been  nigh  midnight  when  I  got  to 
sleep,  but  I  rested  good  after  I  started  in  to.  First 
I  knowed  it  was  morning,  and  while  the  men  was 
getting  in  the  stock,  I  made  out  to  dress  up.  I 
popped  on  the  leggings  first.  They  was  too  long, 
so  I  cut  on*  a  slice  round  the  tops.  Then  they  was 
just  right.  I  got  the  whole  riggin'  on  before  Dad 
come  in.  He  was  tickled,  or  'peared  to  be.  I 
couldn't  get  the  hang  of  the  head-silk,  which  was 
yellow,  so  he  showed  me.  Then  he  took  my  old 
clothes  and  put  them  in  the  packs.  He  said  they 
might  come  handy,  but  he  didn't  know  what  f er. 

Cracky!  I  felt  fine  in  those  clothes — free  and 
loose  every  place,  and  mighty  pretty,  too,  I  reck- 
oned, all  fringed  and  fine.  Besides  they  showed 
they  had  been  wore  a  lot,  and  that  suited  me 
exactly. 

I  watched  the  men  pack,  two  working  together, 
one  on  the  off-side  and  one  on  the  nigh-side,  and 
the  nigh-side  man  throwed  the  hitch.  It  made  me 
stare  to  see  how  fast  they  packed  the  mules,  once 
they  was  saddled.  But  they  was  mighty  careful 
about  the  saddling,  I  tell  you.  Some  was  saw-buck 

64 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER          65 

saddles  and  some  aparajos,  and  when  they  come  to 
one  old  sorrel  mule  they  throwed  a  sack  over  his 
head  before  they  tackled  him.  He  was  ornery  as 
all  time ;  but  one  of  the  best  in  the  lot  when  he  was 
finally  packed. 

I  saddled  my  hoss  and  was  all  ready  when  they 
was,  the  men  having  saddled  their  hosses  before 
they  begun  to  pack  the  mules.  So  away  we  went. 

The  three  loose  hosses  was  a  heap  better'n  the 
ones  the  men  was  riding,  I  noticed,  built  fine  and 
full  of  life.  One  of  them  was  white  as  snow  and 
built  like  a  quarter-hoss.  Anybody  could  see  he 
could  run  like  all  time.  Then  there  was  a  roan — 
a  fine  hoss,  but  heavier'n  the  white.  The  other  was 
a  bay.  He  was  mighty  nigh  a  perfect  hoss — mighty 
nigh's  good's  the  roan,  I  thought;  but  I'd  never  seen 
a  hoss  like  the  white  gelding,  never,  big  or  little. 

The  country  kept  changing,  and  sometimes  we 
was  nigh  the  river  and  again  we'd  be  quite  a  piece 
away  from  it.  I  rode  up  with  Dad ;  and  I  liked  to 
look  back  and  see  the  mules  coming  along  on  the 
trail,  one  right  behind  the  other,  and  Joe  'way  back 
yonder  keeping  them  knitting  along  and  close  up. 
It  sure  did  look  fine.  Bill  was  right  behind  me 
leading  the  mare.  Her  pack  was  light — just  knick- 
knacks  and  clothes  and  light  truck,  but  every  mule'd 
follow  her  to  certain  death,  and  her  tracks  was 
their  tracks,  no  matter  where  they  led.  Dad  said 
'twas  another  jackass  trait.  But  it  was  a  good  one 
— like  most  of  them  is. 

It  was  hotter 'n  all  time  that  day.  But  along  late 
in  the  afternoon  it  rained  some,  and  that  cooled 
the  air.  Most  every  night  I  learned  something  new; 
and  every  night  something  would  start  Dad  or  Bill 
to  tell  a  yarn.  Some  of  them  was  funny,  and  some 


66          LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

wa'n't.  Some  was  mighty  bad  accidents  or  rows. 
And  they  talked  a  heap  about  the  Hudson's  Bay 
Company  and  the  ornery  doings  of  their  trappers 
and  traders  in  our  territory. 

Joe  never  talked  much,  but  somehow  I  got  to 
liking  him  more  every  day.  And  many  a  time  I 
thought  that  three  better  men  couldn't  be  found  no- 
where, than  Dad,  Bill  and  Joe. 

We  traveled  day  in  and  day  out  for  long  spells. 
Then  we'd  rest  a  day  or  two.  One  morning  early 
in  August  when  the  men  saddled  up,  they  saddled 
the  three  hosses  with  little  pads,  and  bridled  them, 
too.  When  they  started  out,  every  man  was  lead- 
ing a  spare  hoss,  Dad  having  the  white  gelding. 
Soon's  we  got  strung  out  he  says: 

"From  now  on,  son,  we  take  no  fool  chances  of 
havin'  visitors,  an*  nobody's  to  leave  the  pack-train 
or  the  camp  without  the  rest  knowin'  about  it  be- 
forehand. Understand  me? 

I  did,  and  said  so. 

"Any  time  now,"  he  says,  "we're  liable  to  get  into 
it.  We  are  drawin'  nigh  to  the  country  where 
there's  always  been  enough  trouble  to  go  'round,  an' 
if  we  don't  find  none,  we'll  be  lucky.  You'd  best 
ride  back  yonder  with  Joe,  now,  f  er  a  spell." 

I  did  hate  to  leave  Dad»  But  cracky!  I  was 
glad  we  was  getting  to  the  Injin  country;  or  I 
thought  I  was.  I  rode  along  back  and  fell  in  be- 
hind Joe  with  the  queerest  feeling  a  man  ever  had. 
I  was  glad  and  sorry  all  mixed  up,  if  you  know 
what  I  mean. 

That  night  when  we  camped  the  packs  was  all 
strung  in  a  circle  with  the  fire  built  inside  it,  small 
and  no-account.  As  soon's  the  stock  was  'tended 
to,  Joe  went  on  guard  on  a  knoll  where  he  could 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER          67 

see  the  bosses  and  mules  and  the  camp,  and  a  good 
bit  of  the  country  around.  Before  day  Dad  and 
Bill  took  their  turns  on  the  knoll;  and  when  morn- 
ing come,  durned  if  I  didn't  feel  off  my  feed,  every- 
body was  so  quiet,  like,  and  careful. 

We  started  out  quite  a  bit  before  sunup,  Dad 
and  Bill  riding  more'n  a  quarter  ahead  and  far 
apart,  and  Joe  and  me  back  with  the  mules.  Both 
Dad  and  Bill  was  leading  their  spare  hosses,  and 
Joe  had  the  extra  bay  saddled  with  his  pad. 

The  country  was  all  changed  now — all  rolling 
plains  with  trees  down  along  the  river.  But  that 
was  far  away  most  of  the  time  now,  because  of  the 
bad-lands,  which  was  hummicky  and  rough.  We 
begun  to  see  queer  flat-topped  hills,  yellow,  like,  and 
with  now  and  then  a  scrub  cedar  growing  on  their 
sides.  Some  of  the  hills  was  reddish,  and  others 
bluish-gray.  And  there  was  deep  coulees,  all  lead- 
ing down  into  the  badlands  by  the  river,  their  bot- 
toms stony  and  washed  bare  by  melting  spring 
snows.  And  cracky!  the  antelope.  There  was 
thousands  of  them. 

As  soon's  the  sun  come  it  got  hotter'n  all  time 
again  and  the  dust  raised  by  the  animals  dried  my 
nose  and  throat.  We  kept  above  the  coulees  but 
could  see  them  running  down  to  lose  theirse'fs  in 
the  bad  lands ;  or  clear  to  the  river,  sometimes.  Off 
ahead  was  endless  plains  and  knolls  and  little  cou- 
lees and  bands  of  antelope.  The  antelope  would 
stand  and  watch  us  till  we  got  mighty  nigh  to  them, 
then  Scat!  away  they'd  go,  all  white  as  snow  be- 
hind. They  was  pretty  and  slick,  and  how  they 
could  run !  I'd  see  them  start  off,  hundreds  of  them, 
and  first  I  knowed  they  was  gone  down  in  a  coulee 
'way  ahead;  then  up  they'd  come  on  another  knoll, 


68         LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

where  they'd  stand  waiting  till  we  got  mighty  nigh 
to  them,  when  away  they'd  go  like  all  get  out. 

One  morning  when  we  started  out,  Dad  and  Bill 
turned  their  regular  saddle-hosses  in  with  the  pack 
train  with  their  saddles  on  them,  and  set  off  afoot, 
leading  the  spare  hosses  with  the  pads  on.  All  the 
forenoon  we  traveled  straight  across  the  country, 
paying  no  attention  to  the  river  or  the  trail.  The 
sun  was  blistering  hot.  Everything  was  parched 
and  dry  as  a  bone.  I  wished  it  was  sundown  many 
a  time. 

It  was  afternoon,  about  two  o'clock,  I  reckon, 
when  I  saw  old  Bill  'way  up  ahead,  stop  and  get  on 
his  roan.  But  I  couldn't  see  Dad  at  all.  "In j ins !" 
says  Joe  right  away.  And  a  squeamish  feeling 
come  over  me  quicker'n  scat.  "Bunch  'em  up !  Bunch 
'em,  up!  and  head  'em  into  that  coulee  yonder 
quick!"  Joe  dug  his  heels  into  his  hoss's  sides. 
And  directly  we  was  in  the  little  coulee  and  couldn't 
see  Bill. 

"Git  down  and  tie  every  mule's  nose  close  to  his 
fetlock — like  this,"  and  Joe  begun  to  tie. 

So  did  I,  but  was  awkward.  It  seemed  the  raw- 
hide ropes  was  bigger'n  my  arm  and  stiff  as  all  get 
out. 

Joe  says,  "Tighten  yer  cinch,  and  look  sharp !" 

Right  then  I  heered  lickety-lickety-lickety !  and  I 
cocked  my  rifle.  Hosses!  I  could  hear  them.  Joe 
heered  them  too.  His  riflelock  went  click-click! 

Then  all  of  a  sudden  something  come  to  the  rim 
of  the  coulee.  It  was  Dad !  and  I  wilted  right  down 
— just  seemed  to  be  all  tuckered  out. 

"It's  a  false  alarm,  Joe,"  he  says.  "Git  'em 
strung  out  again.  Three  whitemen's  a-comin'. 
They  been  running  some  buffalo  up  yonder,  an' 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER          69 

when  I  see  the  dust  an'  the  movin'  herd,  I  thought 
'twas  Injins,  myself,  but  we're  in  luck,  I  reckon. 
Bill's  gone  to  meet  up  with  'em." 

Buffalo  at  last !    I  forgot  my  scare. 

When  we  got  started  again,  I  could  see  four  hoss- 
men  coming  towards  us,  riding  fast.  "Looks  like 
Mike  Fink  and  his  pardners  that's  with  Bill,  Joe," 
said  Dad,  gazing  hard  at  the  oncoming  men.  "I 
know  they  wintered  in  these  parts.  That's  jest 
who  'tis — that's  Mike  on  the  buckskin." 

I  never  did  see  men  so  glad  to  meet  up  with  folks 
as  this  Mike  Fink  and  his  pardners  was.  They 
shook  hands  all  around,  and  was  nigh  tickled  to 
death. 

Mike  was  fine  built,  about  as  tall  as  Bill.  I  could 
see  he'd  be  a  hard  man  to  handle  in  a  rough-and- 
tumble.  He  had  dark  hair  and  black  eyes.  I  didn't 
like  his  eyes.  They  wa'n't  good  to  look  at.  But  he 
was  quick  on  his  feet.  One  of  his  pardners,  Car- 
penter, they  called  him,  was  about  the  same  size  as 
Fink,  but  light  complected,  with  pale  blue  eyes,  and 
a  short  neck.  He  was  stout  and  slow-moving,  and 
I  could  see  Fink  was  quicker-witted  then  he  was. 
Then  there  was  Talbot,  lean  and  thin,  with  brown 
hair  and  awful  hairy  arms  and  hands.  He  was 
about  as  tall  as  me,  and  older'n  Fink  or  Carpenter, 
a  little,  and  not  so  stout.  He  was  the  quietest  one 
of  the  three,  but  saw  most  everything,  with  his 
eyes  about  half -shut,  at  that.  He  had  big  ears,  and 
one  of  them  had  a  notch  out  of  it.  I  reckoned  it  had 
been  bit  out  or  froze  out,  mebby.  They  didn't  look 
like  our  folks,  none  of  them. 

They  wanted  Dad  and  Bill  to  turn  off  to  the  river 
where  their  camp  was.  They  said  if  we  would, 
they'd  go  on  with  us  to  the  Ashley-Henry  Post  at 


70          LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

the  mouth  of  the  Yellowstone.  I  remember  Fink 
said,  "We  need  yer  company,  Dad.  Me  an*  Carpen- 
ter and  Talbot's  gittin'  plumb  tired  of  each  other. 
There's  In j ins  between  here  an*  the  Post,  and  we 
kin  help  ye  stand  'em  off." 

It  was  soon  settled;  and  we  headed  towards  the 
river,  careless,  like,  for  Fink  and  his  pardners  said 
the  country  was  safe  between  them  and  their  camp. 

"We  made  a  killin'  today  for  tongues,"  Fink  said, 
"an*  when  we  git  to  camp  we'll  feed  up  good.  We 
made  a  bully  ketch  last  winter,  too,  but  drinked 
it  all  up  at  the  Post  this  spring — sold  out  there.  We 
couldn't  wait,"  he  laughed.  He  was  full  of  talk 
and  rattled  on  like  he  was  wanting  to  get  rid  of  it 
to  somebody  new.  "Camp's  jest  around  that  p'int 
of  timber  on  the  river,"  he  says.  "We'll  ride  ahead 
an'  git  somethin'  cookin'.  Come  on,  pardners!" 
And  away  they  went,  Bill  with  them,  leaving  Dad 
and  me  together. 

"That's  a  bad  one— that  Mike  Fink,"  Dad  said, 
after  they  rode  away.  "He's  the  best  rifle  shot  I 
ever  see,  too;  but  he  ain't  right  noway.  Both  his 
pardners  is  tarred  with  the  same  stick — both  of 
'em  crack  shots,  especially  Carpenter.  All  of  'em'll 
fight  at  the  drop  of  the  hat,  so  don't  git  into  no 
argument  with  'em — they're  a  bad  lot. 

"I  heered  Fink  and  Carpenter  hed  hed  a  bad  row 
last  fall,"  he  went  on.  "Seems  they  must  hev  made 
it  up  again.  They  hev  all  been  pardners  f  er  a  long 
spell,  an'  their  doin's  are  as  ornery  as  they  are 
themse'fs.  Carpenter  lets  Fink  shoot  a  tin  cup  of 
whisky  off'n  his  head  at  seventy  yards,  and  Fink 
lets  Carpenter  do  the  same,  each  declarin'  it  shows 
confidence  between  'em.  But  Mike's  a  borned  rat- 
tlesnake. Once  I  knowed  him  to  shoot  the  heel  off'n 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER          71 

a  nigger  in  St.  Louis,  'cause  he  said  the  nigger  had 
a  homely  foot,  an*  couldn't  wear  a  boot  with  sech 
a  heel,  noway.  He's  good  company,  though,  when 
he  ain't  in  liquor,  'an'  with  'em  we  kin  stand  off  a 
whole  passel  of  Injins.  But  I  jest  thought  I'd  tell 
ye  that  none  of  'em's  the  sort  I  tie  to,  ginerally. 
Git  up,  Badger !"  and  he  sent  a  rope-end  cracking  at 
a  lagging  mule. 

"Fink  would  be  a  bad  one  in  a  rough-and-tum- 
ble," I  says,  wanting  him  to  talk  more,  while  we 
was  alone. 

"He  shore  is,  son;  an*  everybody  knows  him  fer 
one  bully  that  will  shore  enough  fight.  He'll  go  in 
any  time,  er  any  way.  An'  when  he  goes,  he  goes 
to  win — kick,  bite,  gouge,  er  shoot.  Even  a  knife's 
a  weapon  with  Mike  Fink." 

"Dad,"  I  says,  "when  we  get  to  the  Fort  I  ain't 
goin'  to  forget  to  write  that  letter  back.  I  been 
fretting  some,  account  they'll  think  mebby  I  killed 
Caley  Byers." 

"Shoo !  no  they  won't,  son.  But  write  the  letter, 
anyway.  We  ought  to  git  to  the  Post  in  six  or 
seven  days,  dependin'  on  how  long  we  stop  at  Fink's 
camp." 

Just  then,  wheel  there  was  an  awful  smell. 
"Something's  dead  nigh  here,"  I  says,  looking  up 
the  wind  and  feeling  it  was  like  to  turn  my 
stomach. 

"Buffalo,"  says  Dad.  "Yonder's  a  bunch  of  'em. 
Been  killed  fer  their  tongues.  The  wolves  has  got 
'em  pretty  well  cleaned  up,  but  they  do  load  the 
breeze  some,  shore  'nuff." 

I'd  heered  Fink  say  they'd  made  a  killing  for 
tongues,  but  the  sight  of  the  big  carcasses,  plumb 


72          LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

wasted,  seemed  more'n  wicked  "Do  they  just  take 
the  tongues,  Dad?"  I  asked  him,  feeling  r'iled. 

"Tongues,  most  always — hides  an'  tongues,  at 
times,"  he  says,  like  he  didn't  want  to  talk  about  it. 
But  directly  he  says,  "Does  look  like  provokin'  the 
wrath  of  the  Almighty,  son;  but  they's  millions  of 
'em,  millions  of  'em.  I  try  not  to  do  useless  killin', 
but  I'm  a  skin-hunter,  an'  do  heaps  more'n  is  in 
keepin*  with  my  conscience." 

He  knocked  the  ashes  out  of  his  pipe  and  looked 
straight  at  me,  as  though  he  had  a  notion  to  say 
something  else,  but  more'n  half  a  mind  not  to.  Then 
he  says :  "Son,  conscience  is  like  a  bird-dog  pup,  an' 
kin  be  learned  to  forgit  natural  traits,  'specially 
when  he's  runnin'  with  a  pack  of  hounds.  Mine's 
dulled  right  smart,  I  reckon ;  but  the  older  I  grow, 
the  less  I  like  to  kill  an*  the  more  I  like  to  live  where 
there's  echoes  sleepin'  along  the  streams  an'  danger 
enough  to  spice  the  plains.  To  live  here  I  hev  to 
foller  my  trade,  an'  it's  that  of  a  killer.  But  some 
day  I'm  goin'  to  settle  down  in  some  pretty  spot 
where  the  mountains  meet  the  plains,  an*  where  the 
clear,  cold  streams  are  contributin'  fresh  snow- 
water to  this  here  river.  Then  I'll  hev  'em  all  with 
me,  an'  jest  take  what  I  want  an'  need  out  of  the 
herds  an'  from  the  waters,  same's  the  Injin  did  be- 
fore our  kind  come  here  to  learn  him  to  he'p  rob  his 
own  land  f er  a  few  yards  of  bright-colored  cloth,  er 
a  blanket.  There's  them  among  the  In j  ins  that  sees 
all  this  as  plain  as  the  rump  of  an  antelope  when 
he's  leaving  the  country,  an'  it's  them  that  puts  the 
fight  in  the  rest.  An'  they're  the  wise  ones.  It's  the 
ornery  ones  that  only1  sees  the  blankets  an'  the  cloth 
an'  the  liquor.  But  civilization — that's  what  some 
calls  it — is  bound  to  spread,  an'  the  Injin  must  be 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        73 

swept  before  it,  as  well  as  the  buffalo.  There  ain't 
a  speck  of  what's  a-botherin*  you  in  civilization,  son. 
It's  as  hard  as  old  Pharaoh's  heart,  an'  ought  to  be  a 
trapper. 

"It  takes  the  snows  to  soften  us.  Any  natural 
boy's  a  born  savage,  white,  red,  er  black;  an'  the 
ring  in  the  nose  an'  the  ring  on  the  finger  ain't  so 
mighty  fer  apart,  noway.  We  men  folks  hev  quit 
wearin'  'em  in  our  nose,  an'  mostly  in  our  ears,  but 
we  still  buy  'em  fer  our  women — an'  they  hang  'em 
in  their  ears  yit.  But  jest  the  same  we're  plumb 
ready  to  swear  a  man's  a  savage  that  wears  'em  like 
we  used  to,  'cause  we've  swore  off,  an*  they  ain't 
quite  ready.  Yonder's  the  camp." 

The  sun  was  low,  and  a  breeze  had  sprung  up  and 
stirred  the  grass.  The  hosses  saw  the  camp  as  soon 
as  we  did,  and  perked  up  right  away.  There  was 
a  fire  going  and  some  kettles  hanging  over  it,  and 
the  cooking  meat  smelled  good. 

As  soon's  the  mules  was  unpacked  old  Bill  got  out 
a  flat  keg  of  high  wines  and  treated.  Everybody  but 
Dad  and  me  he'ped  theirse'f  s  plenty,  an'  they  all  got 
talking  right  fast. 

I  soon  saw  there  was  bad  blood  between  Mike 
Fink  and  Carpenter.  It  showed  up  right  away  after 
old  Bill  got  out  his  flat  keg.  It's  curious  how  little 
it  takes  to  find  trouble  when  you're  looking  for  it 
hard.  After  drinking  two  tin  cups  nigh  full,  Mike 
Fink  would  have  mistaken  a  "howdy"  for  a  cuss 
word,  I  reckon. 

Carpenter  emptied  his  cup  and  says,  "I'll  be 
bread-maker,  an'  make  some  bread." 

"Ye  will  not !    I'll  tend  to  the  fine  p'ints,  myse'f !" 

That  was  Mike  Fink,  and  his  voice  was  high  and 
angry.  Both  of  them  started  for  our  pack  where  the 


74         LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

meal  was,  overturning  some  kettles  in  the  race. 
They  reached  the  pack  together,  and  stood  glaring 
at  each  other  like  a  couple  of  cur-dogs,  neither  dar- 
ing to  pick  up  the  sack.  Mike's  fists  was  doubled 
tight  and  his  knuckles  was  white's  his  face. 

"Now,  now!"  cried  Talbot,  springing  from  his 
seat  by  a  tree  and  running  to  his  partners.  "Now, 
don't  make  no  fight  in  yer  own  camp  when  there's 
company  'round  yer  fire.  Ye've  made  it  all  up  once. 
Let  it  stay  that  way." 

He  took  hold  of  Carpenter's  arm  and  pulled  him 
away  a  piece. 

"All  right,  my  hearty,  make  the  damned  bread !" 
said  Fink,  spitting  cotton.  "I'll  quit,"  he  says.  "I'm 
a  bully  good  quitter.  Everybody  knows  that !" 

He  come  back  to  the  fire,  grabbed  up  a  stick,  and 
stirred  the  meat  in  the  kettles,  jabbing  and  poking 
vicious.*  A  magpie  come  into  the  grove  and  lit  on  a 
limb  near  the  camp.  Mike  grabbed  up  his  rifle  and 
cocked  it.  "Watch  me  cut  the  beak  off'n  that 
damned  bird  yonder,"  he  says. 

Bow!  The  poor  bird  fluttered  down  with  his 
beak  cut  clean  off  next  his  head.  It  seemed  to  re- 
lieve Mike.  Something  or  somebody  had  to  settle 
for  his  temper,  and  the  bird  paid  the  bill.  After 
that  he  was  cheerful  and  good-natured  as  anybody. 

But  I  remembered  what  Dad  had  told  me  about 
him.  I  was  proud  because  he'd  told  me  what  he 
thought  about  things,  generally.  I  liked  what  he'd 
said.  It  seemed  to  me  I'd  always  thought  the  same, 
only  I  couldn't  have  put  it  like  he  did.  I  thought 
about  it  all  a  heap  and  I  felt  closer  to  Dad  than  ever 
before.  I  reckoned  if  he  even  did  settle  down  like 
he  said,  I'd  stick  by  him  and  settle  there,  too. 

When  Mike  got  r'iled  over  the  break-making,  old 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER          75 

Bill  had  put  his  keg  away,  and  I  was  glad.  But  he 
got  it  out  again  that  night  while  Joe  was  on  guard. 
It  loosened  tongues;  and  the  men  begun  to  swap 
news.  Dad  and  Bill  told  what  they'd  learned  in  St. 
Louis,  and  the  others  told  the  news  of  the  Post  and 
the  plains,  which  was  what  I  liked  to  hear.  I  felt 
squeamish  for  fear  Fink  and  Carpenter  would  get 
at  it  again,  but  old  Bill  was  careful.  And  I  reckon 
Dad  had  a  hand  in  his  stinginess,  for  he  didn't  offer 
to  treat  very  often. 

"Where's  Little  Pete  this  season?"  asked  Dad, 
putting  a  small  stick  on  the  fire. 

"He's  dead,"  said  Carpenter.  "Pore  Little  Pete 
had  a  hard  time  of  it  crossin',  too.  He  got  into  it 
with  the  Blackfeet.  They  stampeded  his  pack 
hosses  first.  Then  Pete  made  a  ride  for  it.  But  they 
killed  his  pony  under  him.  Somehow  the  old  man 
managed  to  hide  in  the  sage  'till  they  left  him.  It 
was  late  in  January,  an'  that  night  a  bad  blizzard  hit 
the  plains — the  worst  we'd  hed.  Pete  tried  to  make 
the  Post,  but  his  foot  was  nigh  shot  away.  Of 
course  the  Injins  didn't  know  that,  or  they'd  got 
him.  They  told  a  half-breed  about  the  fight,  an' 
'lowed  Little  Pete  had  made  the  Post.  But  Teed  and 
Snow  found  what  was  left  of  him  among  the  ribs 
of  a  buffalo  bull  ten  days  after.  The  wolves  hed  et 
pretty  much  of  both  him  an'  the  bull.  The  pore  little 
devil  must  hev  shot  the  bull  an'  gutted  him  an' 
crawled  inside  to  keep  from  freezin'.  Most  likely 
the  meat  froze  an'  held  him  there  till  he  froze,  him- 
se'f .  Anyhow,  they  found  him  that  a-way  ten  days 
after  the  fight.  It  must  hev  been  a  hard  crossin'  f er 
Little  Pete." 

"Shoo!  shore  was.  How  fer  was  he  from  the 
Post?"  asked  Dad,  filling  his  pipe. 


76          LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

"Not  more'n  ten  mile;  an*  if  Teed  hedn't  seen  a 
white  wolf  near  the  carcass,  nobody'd  ever  knowed 
what  went  with  him,  most  likely." 

"Well,  I  reckon  I'll  slip  out  an*  relieve  Joe,"  says 
Dad,  getting  up. 

I  wanted  to  go  with  him,  but  he  said,  "No,  turn  in. 
Ye'll  git  yer  share  soon  enough." 

When  Joe  come  in  he  went  right  to  his  blankets. 
I  reckoned  Dad  had  told  him  to.  Old  Bill  took  the 
hint,  too,  and  put  his  flat  keg  in  the  pack.  It  wa'n't 
long  after  that  till  the  little  fire  was  plumb  out  and 
Mike  Fink  snoring  like  all  get  out. 

But  I  couldn't  go  to  sleep.  The  story  of  Little 
Pete  wouldn't  let  me.  All  night  long  the  awfulness 
of  the  thing  kept  me  turning  and  tossing,  till  I 
could  fairly  see  the  man  inside  the  dead  buffalo  and 
hear  the  wolves  gnawing  the  frozen  meat  in  the 
bitter  storm. 

Besides,  I  heered  Mike  Fink  stirring  in  the  night. 
I  reckoned  they'd  got  out  the  flat  keg  again,  and 
that  pestered  me,  along  with  the  other. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

I  must  have  gone  to  sleep  just  before  day,  for  I 
woke  up  when  Dad  started  the  fire.  I  didn't  reckon 
I'd  been  asleep  more'n  ten  minutes,  though.  I 
crawled  out  and  went  down  to  the  river  and  had 
a  swim.  That  freshened  me  up.  On  the  way  back 
I  met  Dad  coming  down  with  a  couple  of  kettles,  and 
I  turned  back  with  him.  Down  by  the  river  I  says, 
"Dad,  is  it  true  that  a  man  ever  gutted  a  buffalo  and 
crawled  inside  to  save  himse'f  from  a  blizzard?" 

"I'm  too  durned  long,  myse'f,"  he  laughed,  "but 
I'm  shore  men  hes  done  it.  I've  heered  of  it  bein' 
done  more'n  once.  Pete  was  a  little  feller,  and  there 
ain't  no  doubt  he  did  it.  Ye  see,  son,  all  of  us  hes 
heered  of  it  bein'  done,  an'  in  desperation  a  little 
man  would  be  apt  to  try  it  when  it  was  an  only 
chance  f er  life.  Yes,  I  reckon  it's  true  Little  Pete 
done  it." 

"Are  we  goin'  to  start  to-morrow,  Dad?"  I  asked, 
while  he  filled  the  kettles. 

"Figgered  on  it,"  he  says,  "but  it  don't  look  like  it 
now.  Bill's  full,  an'  Fink's  drunk.  Must  hev 
drinked  in  the  night,  I  reckon.  Never  knowed  Bill 
to  drink  in  the  Injin  country  before.  I  don't  like 
to  travel  that  a-way.  The  keg's  nigh  half  full  yit, 
an*  if  they've  got  to  finish  it,  this  is  as  good  a  place 
as  any — better'n  the  trail.  Guess  we'll  go  out  an' 
move  the  stock  a  bit.  They  been  camped  here  so 
long  the  grass  is  nigh  too  short  close  in." 

"I'll  go  along  with  you,"  I  says,  taking  a  kettle  of 
water. 

I  was  mighty  sorry  we'd  met  up  with  Mike  Fink, 

77 


78          LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

but  I  didn't  say  so.  I  knowed  Dad  was  sorry,  too. 
But  I  reckoned  he  figured  we  needed  he'p  to  get  to 
the  Post,  so  mebby  it  would  turn  out  for  the  best  in 
the  end.  Anyway,  I  figured  from  what  Dad  had 
said  the  keg  held  all  the  liquor  there  was  in  the 
packs. 

We  left  the  kettles  in  camp  and  Dad  called  the 
men.  Right  away  Bill  got  out  the  keg  again. 

Joe  was  on  guard.  He  wa'n't  drinking  like  Bill ; 
but  mebby  it  was  easier  for  him  not  to,  and  that 
makes  a  heap  of  difference.  He  was  in  the  top  of  a 
big  cottonwood  near  the  edge  of  the  grove,  where 
a  seat  had  been  fixed  and  a  way  to  get  up. 

"I  see  a  big  cloud  of  dust  to  the  west,"  he  says, 
when  we  come  under  the  tree. 

"Buffalo,"  asked  Dad,  looking  away  across  the 
plains. 

"Yes,  I  make  out  it's  buffalo,  an'  an  awful  herd 
of  'em,  too." 

"Runnin'?" 

"Can't  make  out." 

"Hope  not.  Look  scattering  Joe.  Me  an'  Lige 
will  move  the  stock,  but  if  the  buffalo's  runnin'  we'd 
best  drive  the  stock  into  the  timber." 

"I'll  look  sharp.  But  I  don't  think  they're  run- 
nin'," says  Joe. 

We  went  on  out  to  the  stock  and  moved  our  staked 
hosses,  and  then  climbed  a  knoll  and  saw  the  dust 
rolling  up  in  the  still  morning  air.  The  dust  cloud 
was  miles  long,  and  the  sun,  just  coming  up,  lit  on 
it  like  a  long,  wide  trail  of  gold  hanging  between 
the  ground  and  the  blue  sky.  It  was  a  curious  sight, 
and  mighty  pretty. 

"They  ain't  runnin',"  says  Dad,  after  a  spell. 
"But  jest  the  same  I  cal'late  we'd  best  move  the 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER          79 

stock  into  the  timber.  That's  a  whopping*  big  herd, 
an*  it's  headin'  too  close  in.  The  mules  might  stam- 
pede. Git  on  yer  hoss,  an*  we'll  drive  everything  to 
camp — theirs  an*  ours.  No  call  to  take  chances. 
Shake  yerse'f  I" 

When  we  got  to  the  tree  where  Joe  was,  driving 
the  stock  ahead  of  us,  Dad  called  to  him,  "Come 
down,  Joe !  Lige'll  take  yer  place." 

That  tickled  me,  and  I  climbed  up  to  the  seat  with 
my  rifle.  It  was  higher'n  it  looked  from  the  ground. 
I  could  see  a  long  way  up  and  down  the  river  and  out 
over  the  plains.  The  men  in  the  camp  was  stringing 
rawhide  ropes  from  tree  to  tree,  in  no  time  makin' 
a  rope  corral  three  ropes  high  around  the  hosses 
and  mules. 

Then  Dad  come  back  to  the  tree,  "Look  scatterin', 
son  I"  he  called.  "An*  if  ye  should  see  In j ins  behind 
that  herd,  let  us  know  it  quick's  ye  kin.  But  I 
reckon  the  herd's  driftin'.  Anyway,  ye'll  see  they's 
buffalo  left,  an'  before  night  ye'll  say  so." 

Then  he  went  back  to  the  camp  and  begun  shaping 
up  and  piling  different,  the  others  helping  some, 
especially  Joe. 

The  cloud  of  dust  kept  coming  nearer  and  nearer. 
I  couldn't  see  no  end  to  it,  an'  I  reckoned  it  was 
more'n  half  a  mile  wide.  Directly  I  could  hear  a  low 
rumbling  and  then  pretty  soon  I  could  see  a  black 
line  down  under  the  dust.  I  knowed  it  was  buffalo, 
but  it  was  just  a  black  line  without  any  breaks  in  it. 
And  right  over  it  and  back  of  it,  the  dust  rolled  up 
in  a  cloud  that  kept  getting  bigger  and  bigger  and 
nearer  and  nearer. 

The  rumbling  come  on  louder  and  louder,  till  I 
could  feel  the  ground  tremble  like  an  earthquake 
was  shaking  it.  Directly,  here  they  was !  right  at 


80         LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

the  edge  of  the  grove.  I  could  see  the  leaders  plain. 
Their  black  tongues  was  lolling  out  and  they  looked 
to  be  nigh  winded,  but  kept  on  going  straight  and 
steady.  Then  the  dust  hit  me  and  hid  the  herd.  I 
reckoned  they  was  going  to  skip  the  camp,  but  I 
couldn't  see. 

In  less'n  a  minute  I  couldn't  have  heered  a  cannon 
go  off,  nor  I  couldn't  even  think.  The  ground  was 
shaking  so  the  tree  jiggled,  and  I  took  hold  of  a  limb 
to  hold  on  to.  The  noise  was  awful !  Horns  pound- 
ing against  horns,  hoofs  clicking,  and  the  ornery 
snorting  grunts — worse'n  a  nightmare.  The  smell 
of  thousands  of  heated  animal  bodies  crowded  close 
and  going  fast,  come  up  to  me  with  the  dust.  My 
throat  and  nose  was  dry.  I'd  have  given  anything 
for  a  drink  of  water.  But  to  go  down  now  was  out 
of  the  question. 

Hours  went  by.  They  seemed  like  nights  to  me. 
Dark  come  on,  and  still  the  thunder  of  the  herd  was 
bad  as  ever.  My  eyes  was  smarting,  and  my  tongue 
was  parched.  I  couldn't  see  a  foot  from  my  nose. 
I  wondered  if  there  ever  would  come  an  end  to  that 
herd.  It  didn't  seem  as  though  it  had  any.  There 
wa'n't  any  lessening  of  the  noise.  I  couldn't  have 
told  how  long  I'd  been  in  the  tree,  if  I  died  for  it. 

It  must  have  been  past  midnight  when  I  thought 
the  roar  was  falling  off  some.  But  I  wa'n't  sure. 
My  ears  wa'n't  dependable.  They  wouldn't  rest, 
even  when  I  knowed  the  drags  was  going  by  and 
the  end  had  come,  sure  enough. 

Cracky!  My  teeth  gritted  with  sand,  and  my 
ears  thumped  with  the  clicking  and  grunting  and 
booming  of  hoofs,  long  after  I  knowed  they  was 
gone.  I  couldn't  seem  to  gather  myse'f  to  climb 
down — jest  set  there  a  spell,  kind  of  numb. 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER          81 

All  of  a  sudden  I  thought,  "Mebby  the  herd  come 
through  the  grove !"  That  stirred  me,  and  I  started 
down.  My  legs  was  asleep  and  numb,  and  I  was 
afraid  I'd  fall.  But  at  last  I  got  to  the  ground.  The 
dust  was  settling  and  I  heered  Dad's  voice.  "Drive 
'em  to  the  water,"  he  says,  and  I  run  into  camp. 

"I'll  take  'em !"  I  says.  "Cracky !  I  can  drink  that 
old  river  plumb  dry,  myse'f ." 

Dad  come  along  with  me.  "See  any  buffalo,  son?" 
he  says,  brushing  the  dust  off  his  sleeves. 

"No,"  I  says,  "but  I  heered  and  smelled  a  million, 
I  reckon,  and  I  don't  care  if  I  never  see  any." 

"Shoo !  don't  say  that,  son,"  he  says,  serious,  like. 
"It's  the  buffalo  that  makes  livin'  possible,  an'  I'm 
glad  ye  know  the  supply  ain't  noways  threatened 
yit.  Anyway,  the  buffalo  sobered  our  pardners,  an' 
Bill's  put  away  his  keg.  Besides  we  can't  stay  here 
now.  So  I  reckon  mebby  we'll  move  sooner'n  I 
figured." 

Cracky !  I  was  glad. 

The  moonlight  was  just  beginning  to  pierce  the 
dust,  and  everything  looked  queer  and  different. 
Every  mule  had  changed  his  color — or  lost  it,  I 
mean.  They  was  the  same  color  as  the  men's 
clothes.  Even  the  leaves  on  the  trees  and  bushes 
was  coated  over  with  a  whitish  yellow.  And  noth- 
ing on  earth  could  have  et  the  grass  for  a  mile  or 
more,  I  reckon. 

I  took  off  my  clothes  and  shook  them  and  waded 
out  and  sat  down  in  the  river  to  watch  the  hosses 
and  mules  drink.  Some  of  them  waded  far  out,  and 
some  drank  till  I  thought  they'd  kill  theirse'fs.  I 
washed  my  head  and  wallowed  around  till  the  stock 
got  tired  and  left.  Then  Dad  drove  them  back  to 
the  corral,  and  I  come  out  and  put  on  my  clothes. 


82          LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

Everybody  was  grouchy.  The  herd  had  got  on 
everybody's  nerves. 

"Boy,  rustle  up  some  wood  an*  we'll  cook  an*  eat. 
I'm  wolfish,"  says  Mike  Fink,  and  I  went  at  it  and 
got  some  wood.  His  eyes  was  red,  and  I  knowed  he 
felt  as  touchy's  a  setting  hen. 

"We'll  hev  to  pull  out  of  here,"  he  says  to  Dad. 
"The  stock  won't  eat  the  grass  no  more,  an'  we'll 
have  to  move." 

"It's  mighty  nigh  day,"  says  Dad.  "My  idee  is 
to  cross  the  river  soon's  we  kin.  I  figger  there'll 
be  In j  ins  close  to  that  herd." 

"We  kin  make  a  short  cut,"  says  Fink.  "There's 
a  good  crossing  above  here  a  mile,  an'  soon's  we 
cross  we  kin  strike  straight  for  the  Post  an'  camp 
on  a  creek  that  runs  into  the  river.  We  kin  git  to 
it  by  four  o'clock." 

"I  reckon  the  stock  kin  stand  it,"  says  Dad. 
"They'll  hev  to.  Joe,  you  start  shapin'  up  the  packs. 
Lige'll  he'p  ye.  Me  an*  Bill  will  saddle  up  while 
ye're  gettin'  somelhin*  ready  to  eat,  Mike." 

The  moon  was  hanging  low  when  we  got  started 
up  the  river.  The  hosses  was  glad  to  get  away  and 
was  saying  so,  snuffling  and  blowing  the  dust  out  of 
their  noses.  Fink  was  ahead,  knowing  the  crossing, 
and  I  rode  with  Dad.  Just  as  the  moon  was  drop- 
ping out  of  sight,  I  saw  Fink  ride  into  the  river, 
followed  by  Bill  and  the  mare.  Then  the  mules 
splashed  in;  and  the  pack-train,  crossing  the  river 
in  the  fag  end  of  the  moonlight,  was  mighty  pretty 
to  see.  Fink's  hoss,  when  he  got  to  the  center  where 
the  deep  shadows  of  the  trees  on  the  other  side  fell 
on  the  water,  was  nigh  swimming.  I  lost  sight  of 
him  for  a  minute,  but  directly  heered  his  hoofs  on 
the  stones  on  the  other  side. 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER          83 

We  made  a  good  crossing  and  was  mighty  soon 
out  and  heading  across  the  country  in  the  dark,  for 
the  moon  was  plumb  gone  and  the  stars  was  fading 
out  for  day  to  come.  It's  darker  just  then  than  any 
other  time — just  between  night  and  coming  day. 
The  pack  train  looked  like  lumps  on  the  plain,  and 
was  longer'n  ever  because  of  our  new  pardners' 
stock  strung  along  with  ours,  some  packed  and 
some  with  just  pack-saddles  on  their  backs.  The 
wolves  was  howling  on  the  other  side,  plenty  of 
them.  They  was  following  the  big  herd,  picking  up 
the  wounded  and  the  weak,  I  reckoned. 

Then  morning  come  and  there  was  more  antelope 
than  ever.  It  was  blistering  hot  when  the  sun  got 
up  good,  and  the  stock  was  tired  and  mighty  hungry, 
too.  But  we  kept  on  till  nigh  sundown,  when  we 
stopped  on  a  little  sluggish  stream  to  make  camp. 

A  double  guard  went  out  with  the  stock  that 
night,  and  after  supper  Fink  climbed  a  knoll  to 
watch,  too.  All  night  long  the  wolves  howled  up 
along  the  little  stream,  and  it  was  so  hot  I  couldn't 
sleep.  I  didn't  hear  the  guard  come  in,  or  the  other 
men  go  out,  though,  so  I  slept  more'n  I  reckoned. 


CHAPTER  IX 

We  was  up  and  stirring  before  daylight,  but  made 
no  fire — just  ate  a  cold  bite  and  started  soon's  we 
could.  It  was  going  to  be  another  blistering  hot 
day,  and  I  was  glad  we'd  started  early.  Mike  Fink, 
leading  his  war-hoss,  was  more'n  a  quarter  ahead  of 
the  train,  and  Dad  and  I  leading  our  hosses,  walked 
nigh  as  far  ahead  of  the  mules  as  he,  only  to  one 
side,  like.  It  was  light,  but  not  yet  sunup  when  Dad 
says,  "Son,  I  feel  shore  they's  Injins  close.  Twice 
last  night  when  I  was  on  guard  the  mules  smelled 
'em  an'  was  restless.  Better  keep  yer  eyes  peeled 
good  an'  keep  a-lookin'  scatterin'.  Watch  Fink,  too, 
always  or  whoever's  ahead.  Best  drop  back  behind 
me  a  bit,  an'  out  a  little  so's  we'll  cover  more 
territory." 

We  went  on  ahead  a  piece,  and  I  cut  out  farther, 
feel  he  knowed  more'n  he'd  told,  mebby.  I 
looked  mighty  careful  but  couldn't  see  a  thing — not 
even  an  antelope.  Directly  Dad  stopped  and  beck- 
oned and  I  hurried  up  to  him.  He  was  standing 
beside  a  partly  butchered  buffalo  in  a  little  coulee. 

"I  was  shore  of  it,  son,"  he  says.  "The  mules 
was  right  last  night.  It's  a  wonder  the  Injins  didn't 
come  at  us  at  daybreak.  Wait  here  till  the  train 
comes  up,  an'  tell  the  boys  to  look  scatterin'  an'  keep 
the  stock  bunched.  I'm  goin'  ahead.  But  if  any- 
thing starts  I'll  come  back,  too." 

A  hot  wind  had  sprung  up  with  the  sun.  Sage 
hens  scurried  into  the  sage,  holding  their  wings 
away  from  their  bodies  and  their  beaks  wide  apart. 
They  was  so  close  and  tame  I  could  see  their  eyes 

84 


LIGE  MOUNTS :  FREE  TRAPPER          85 

and  their  panting  throats.  My  mouth  got  dry  just 
looking  at  them,  and  my  knees  felt  weak  like,  and 
tired  out.  I  knowed  Dad  expected  trouble,  and  I 
was  more  afraid  of  being  afraid  and  showing  it 
than  I  was  of  In j ins.  I  knowed  that.  But  the  more 
I  thought  of  it,  the  worse  I  felt.  When  I  mighty 
nigh  stepped  on  a  rattlesnake,  I  jumped  a  foot  high, 
but  right  away  got  hold  of  myse'f .  I  wished  I  had 
a  drink  of  water  as  cold  as  ice. 

Directly  the  pack-train  come  up.  As  soon's  the 
men  saw  the  butchered  buffalo,  they  tightened  up, 
like,  and  was  touchy  as  porcupines.  When  we 
started  again  Carpenter  and  I  was  on  one  side  of 
the  train  and  Bill  and  Talbot  on  the  other,  Joe  being 
ahead  with  the  mare,  so  the  stock  was  guarded  on 
both  sides.  It  was  hotter'n  all  time.  We  hadn't 
gone  a  quarter  when  here  Dad  come,  lickety-split 
on  the  white  gelding. 

"Jumped !  as  sure  as  the  devil's  a  pig  I"  cries  Bill, 
getting  onto  his  roan.  "Git  on,  boys!"  he  says. 
"We're  in  for  brush.  Lige,  tighten  yer  cinch!" 

Dad  pulled  up  short  when  he  got  close.  "Gros- 
ventres!"  he  calls.  "I  saw  four  of  'em,  an'  they 
saw  me.  It's  a  war  party,  I  reckon,  an'  their  camp's 
down  along  the  river,  I  figure.  No  call  to  stop. 
Best  keep  jiggin'  till  they  jump  us." 

He  and  Bill  rode  out  ahead  and  got  down  off  their 
hosses  and  walked.  Fink,  who  had  rode  up  behind 
Dad,  turned  back  as  soon's  he  saw  Dad  and  Bill 
coming  and  went  on  with  them — all  walking  and 
about  one  hundred  yards  apart  and  two  hundred 
yards  ahead  of  us. 

My  mouth  was  dry  as  a  powder  horn  and  my 
tongue  felt  like  a  wood-rasp  in  my  mouth.  Car- 
penter begun  to  hum  a  tune. 


86         LIGE  MOUNTS :  FREE  TRAPPER 

"I  wish  I  had  a  drink  of  water,"  I  says. 

He  laughed  a  little.  "Keep  cool,  boy,"  he  says. 
"If  ye're  a  rifle  shot  worth  a  scabby  robe,  this  outfit 
kin  lick  the  whole  Grosventre  tribe.  Yer  pardners 
an*  mine  are  as  good's  they  grow  'em.  When  it 
starts,  hold  yer  fire  till  yer  ball  kind  draw  blood. 
That's  what  chills  'em — to  see  every  shot  count." 
Then  he  begun  to  hum  again. 

A  flock  of  sage  hens  went  up  right  from  under  my 
feet.  Cracky !  I  fetched  my  rifle  down  and  cocked 
it  before  I  even  knowed  it.  My  legs  was  prickling 
like  a  million  ants  was  crawling  up  and  down  my 
skin,  and  I  looked  at  Carpenter,  fool-like. 

"Don't  git  excited,"  he  says.  "Keep  right  cool. 
We  kin  whop  a  whole  passel  of  In j ins.  When  they 
come  at  us  we've  plumb  got  to  keep  the  stock 
bunched,  ye  know.  That  looks  like  a  mighty  fine 
rifle  ye're  packin',  boy." 

"'Tis,"  I  says.  Then  I  thought  of  something. 
Suppose  I  got  killed.  They'd  never  know  I  didn't 
kill  Caley  Byers,  especially  if  murder  didn't  out. 

"Mr.  Carpenter,"  I  says,  "do  you  reckon  it  would 
be  all  right  for  me  to  run  ahead  and  tell  Dad  some- 
thing I  forgot  to  tell  him  before?" 

"Yep.    I'll  lead  yer  hoss.    Run  on,"  he  says. 

I  run  ahead,  making  my  throat  dryer'n  ever ;  but 
I  says :  "Dad,  if  anything  should  happen  to  me,  will 
you  be  sure  to  write  to  Eldin  Muzzey,  Coon  Creek 
Crossing,  and  tell  him  I  didn't  have  no  hand  in 
killing  Caley  Byers — that  I  didn't  even  know  he 
was  dead  till  that  officer  took  me  up  in  St.  Louis?" 

"I  shore  will,  son,"  he  says.  "I  shore  will.  But 
keep  yer  nerve.  We'll  git  through  this  little  brush 
directly  an'  when  it  starts  ye'll  feel  a  heap  better." 

"I  wish — "  I  started  to  say  something,  and  quit. 


LIGE  MOUNTS :  FREE  TRAPPER          87 

"Ye  wish  what,  son?" 

"I  sure  wish  they'd  come  if  they're  comm',"  I 
says. 

"Best  git  back  now  an*  he'p  hold  the  stock.  It 
won't  be  long —  Here  they  be!  Hurry  back  to 
Carpenter !" 

Dad  got  on  the  white  gelding  and  I  started  to  run 
back.  I'd  seen  the  In j  ins — a  whole  passel  of  them, 
off  on  the  plains.  "They're  comin' !"  I  cried  out  to 
Carpenter.  "They're  most  here.  And  I'm  blamed 
glad  of  it!" 

"Git  on  yer  hoss,"  says  Carpenter.  "Bout  forty, 
I  judge.  Let  'em  come !" 

Everybody  was  on  his  hoss,  but  we  didn't  stop. 
Dad  and  Bill  and  Fink,  all  mounted,  was  waiting 
for  us  to  come  up.  As  soon's  we  got  close  they 
went  on  again  and  we  after  them,  keeping  the  stock 
bunched  up  close.  They  was  heading  for  a  coulee. 
By  the  time  we  got  there  the  In  j  ins  was  close — not 
more'n  three  hundred  yards. 

When  they  saw  us  stop  they  turned  and  begun  to 
circle  'round  us,  yelling  like  all  get  out.  They  was 
plumb  naked,  except  for  a  breech  clout  and  moc- 
casins. Their  hair  was  flying  loose,  and  there 
wa'n't  a  saddle  nor  a  pad  on  their  hosses — just  a 
rawhide  rope  fast  to  their  necks  and  hitched  around 
the  lower  jaw.  They  was  riding  fast  and  yelling 
and  waving  buffalo  robes  and  red  blankets  in  a 
cloud  of  dust  to  stampede  our  stock.  It  looked  like 
they'd  sure  do  it.  The  mules  was  scared  and 
mighty  nigh  run  off.  One  of  them,  dragging  Bill, 
stepped  on  my  foot  and  upset  me,  but  Joe  hung  onto 
the  bell-mare  till  he  got  her  tied.  Dad  was  behind 
the  buckskin  mule  from  me.  I  heered  him  shut  his 
pan,  so  knowing  he'd  fresh-primed  his  rifle,  I 


88          LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

primed  mine.  Psst !  come  a  ball.  I  felt  the  wind  of 
it  and  honkered  down.  Then  another  splattered 
dirt  on  Mike  Fink  and  went  whining  off  like  they 
do  when  they  glance. 

Fink  commenced  to  laugh  and  carry  on  to  badger 
the  Injins.  I  wished  he'd  quit  it.  We  was  in  a 
bad  enough  fix.  They  was  riding  closer  and  closer. 
Bill  was  nigh  as  bad,  trying  to  tell  a  yarn  to  Car- 
penter like  anybody  wanted  to  hear  it  now.  Then 
a  pack-horse  went  down  near  to  Joe,  and  I  saw  Dad 
take  a  chew  and  kneel  down,  ready,  like. 

Mike  Fink  kept  saying,  "Don't  nobody  kill  that 
young  buck  on  the  pinto!  Leave  him  to  me!  I'm 
goin'  ter  gut-shoot  him!"  And  Bill  made  out  like 
he  wanted  the  young  buck  himse'f .  They  kept  it  up 
till  the  Injins  charged. 

I  saw  them  start  straight  at  us ;  heered  the  gun- 
locks  click ;  and  cut  loose.  Fink's  rifle  roared  in  my 
ear.  I  jumped  up  to  reload.  The  Injins  had  turned, 
and  over  the  smoke  I  saw  the  young  brave  pitching 
and  tossing  on  the  ground ;  so  I  knowed  Fink's  ball 
was  in  his  bowels.  Four  was  down  and  two  more 
running  away  from  their  dead  hosses,  zig-zag,  like 
snipes  fly.  The  young  buck  got  up,  staggered,  and 
fell  down  again,  doubling  up  and  kicking  out  in  all 
directions.  And  Mike  Fink  laughed.  "Tickles  ye, 
don't  it,  young  feller !"  he  yelled,  and  it  didn't  even 
r'ile  me  to  hear  him. 

While  I  was  ramming  down  a  ball  I  begun  to 
wonder  if  I'd  taken  aim  like  Carpenter  had  told  me, 
before  I  fired.  I  couldn't  remember.  But  I  knowed 
one  thing — my  scare  was  plumb  gone,  and  I  felt 
as  ornery  as  Mike.  I  half  wished  they'd  come  back. 

None  of  us  was  hit,  but  Carpenter's  best  pack- 
hoss  was  dead,  and  that  r'iled  Mike  Fink  more'n 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER          89 

ever.  He  run  to  the  young  buck  and  stabbed  him 
and  took  his  scalp,  tore  it  off,  mostly.  Then  yelling 
to  dare  the  rest,  he  waved  it  over  his  head.  And 
Talbot  yelled  to  he'p  him. 

It  was  like  a  goad-stick  to  the  Injins.  They 
charged.  And  Fink  streaked  back  for  the  coulee. 
I  knelt  down  to  make  a  shot  that  would  count.  But 
they  wa'n't  so  brash  this  time.  They  turned  off.  I 
didn't  know  if  I  was  glad  or  sorry.  But  when  I 
thought  they  wa'n't  comin',  here  they  came  again. 
I  cocked  my  rifle.  Dad  heered  it.  "Let  'em  come 
in  close,  son,"  he  says.  "Don't  waste  no  lead."  I 
told  him  I'd  wait  for  them.  But  they  circled  off 
again  and  stopped  out  of  range. 

"Baah!"  yelled  Fink,  and  I  yelled  myse'f,  and 
stood  up. 

Two  was  riding  off  from  the  others.  Right  away 
Dad  got  up  off  his  knee.  "They've  gone  to  git  he'p," 
he  says,  "an'  I  reckon  we'd  best  charge;  then  make 
a  run  fer  a  place  where  we  kin  stand  'em  off." 

The  men  talked  back  and  forth.  Mike  was  for 
charging,  and  so  was  Bill.  Carpenter  said  he 
reckoned  it  was  as  good  a  way  as  any,  and  that  set 
Mike  off.  He  cussed  and  swore,  and  at  last  Car- 
penter said,  "I've  agreed,  ain't  I?"  and  Dad  said, 
"Shoo !  One  quarrel  at  a  time.  You  boys  know  the 
river  down  yonder.  Pick  out  a  place  an*  let  Car- 
penter an*  Lige  run  fer  it  with  the  stock  when  the 
rest  of  us  git  the  Injins  movin'." 

He  began  to  take  off  his  shirt.  I  tried  to  hold  him 
back,  but  he  only  laughed.  "Son,"  he  says,  "this 
fight's  won.  They're  afraid  of  our  medicine.  But 
when  they  come  back,  them  two  with  another  passel, 
no  tellin'  how  strong  they'll  be,  ner  how  hard  they'll 
fight," 


90 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 


He  tighted  the  cinch  on  the  white  gelding's  pad 
and  swung  onto  him,  naked  to  the  waist.  Carpenter 
says,  "Little  Pete's  old  camp — that's  a  good  place." 
And  before  I  knowed  it  they  ripped  away,  yelling 
like  mad — Dad  and  Bill  and  Joe,  and  all  of  them 
but  Carpenter  and  me.  I  held  my  breath.  It  was 
five  against  nigh  forty. 

But  quick's  the  In j  ins  saw  them  coming  they  run. 
I  couldn't  believe  it.  I  didn't  know  In  j  ins  then. 
Something  had  made  them  afraid  of  us;  something 
that  nobody  could  name;  and  to  this  day  I  don't 
know  what  it  was.  But  it  was  medicine  of  some 
sort.  Dad  had  knowed  it  right  away,  and  so  had 
Mike  Fink.  I  saw  Bill  fire  a  shot,  saw  four  or  five 
spurts  of  smoke  from  Injin  guns,  and  then  they  was 
over  a  ridge  and  out  of  sight. 


CHAPTER  X 

"Now,  boy,  untie  'em."  Carpenter's  voice  fetched 
me  back,  like.  What  looked  to  be  foolhardy  on 
Dad's  part  was  on  me,  and  I  couldn't  believe  what 
I'd  seen. 

"Hurry,  boy." 

I  put  down  my  rifle  and  commenced  to  untie  the 
stock,  not  more'n  half  hearing  Carpenter's  voice 
talking  as  he  worked.  "  'Taint  more'n  five  miles," 
and  "That  was  the  best  pack-hoss  we  had,"  come  to 
me  without  me  caring  much  how  far  it  was,  nor 
what  hoss  was  killed. 

We  unpacked  the  dead  animal,  divided  his  pack 
on  two  others,  and  lit  out,  Carpenter  leading  the 
bell-mare,  and  me  driving  the  rest  as  fast  as  I  could 
make  them  go. 

We  come  to  a  coulee  and  Carpenter  turned  down 
into  it.  It  was  stony  but  led  to  the  river,  getting 
deeper  as  we  traveled.  Directly  Carpenter  turned 
into  another  coulee  and  took  that  one  on  a  lope; 
so  in  no  time  we  was  in  the  prettiest  little  meadow 
I  ever  saw.  It  was  in  a  sharp  bend  of  the  river,  and 
not  more'n  ten  feet  above  the  water.  The  bluejoint 
was  high  and  down  below  out  of  rifle-shot  there  was 
a  grove  of  big  cottonwoods.  Up  above  for  more'n 
a  mile  there  wa'n't  anything ;  so  that  nothing  could 
come  at  us  without  being  seen. 

It  all  popped  into  sight,  the  stock  snuffling  like 
they  was  glad,  and  Carpenter  stopped  at  the  edge 
of  the  bank.  We  both  got  down  and  unpacked, 
stringing  the  packs  in  a  half-circle  with  the  open 
part  towards  the  river.  We  worked  fast,  Carpenter 

91 


92          LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

talking  most  of  the  time,  like  we  was  safe  and  all 
right ;  but  I  couldn't  care  much  what  he  was  saying. 
I  was  thinking  of  Dad  and  the  others  out  on  the 
plains. 

There  was  a  little  pole  corral  under  the  bank  that 
Carpenter  figured  would  hold  the  stock,  so  we  put 
them  into  it  and  tied  the  mare.  Then  we  saw  that 
the  buckskin  mule  had  an  arrow  sticking  in  him. 
I'd  never  noticed  it  all  the  way  from  the  little 
coulee,  and  felt  ashamed.  We  pulled  it  out  and  the 
wound  was  bleeding  bad  when  we  climbed  up  the 
bank  to  pile  the  packs  two-high  for  a  barricade. 

I  looked  out  over  the  plains.  There  was  nothing 
in  sight — not  even  a  bird.  I  wondered  what  I'd 
do  if  Dad  didn't  come  back.  Carpenter  begun  to 
hum  a  tune.  "What's  troublin'  ye?"  he  asked  me. 

"I  reckon  I'll  go  an*  get  a  drink  of  water,"  I  says. 
"I  plumb  forgot  I  wanted  it." 

The  water  was  mighty  night  clear  and  rippled 
over  a  bar  below  the  corral,  where  I  reckoned  there 
was  a  ford,  mebby.  The  shade  of  the  big  trees 
down  below  me  reached  out  to  the  middle  of  the 
stream,  so  I  knowed  it  was  nigh  four  o'clock.  It 
was  awful  hot  and  still.  When  I  knelt  down  to 
drink  a  black  shadow  fell  on  the  water.  I  looked 
up  and  there  was  a  big  old  buzzard  sailing  slow 
against  the  blue  sky,  his  wings  spread  out,  and 
never  moving,  like  he  could  go  where  he  wanted 
to  without  trying.  I  watched  him,  still  and  sure 
up  yonder  where  he  could  see  for  miles.  Just  when 
I  was  going  to  drink  a  band  of  antelope  come  down 
to  the  water  on  the  other  side.  They  looked  mighty 
pretty  if  only  we  wa'n't  in  trouble.  I  watched  them 
a  spell,  but  when  I  moved  to  get  up  they  lit  out  in 
a  hurry. 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER          93 

Carpenter  was  stretched  on  the  ground  with  his 
telescope  to  his  eye.  "They're  comin' !"  he  called. 

"All  of  them?"  I  says,  running  to  him,  afraid  of 
his  answer. 

"Every  damned  one!" 

I  begun  to  laugh.  It  was  too  good  to  be  true. 
Then  I  thought  of  that  other  time  when  I  figured 
things  was  too  fine  to  last,  and  it  scared  me.  Meb- 
by  some  of  them  was  hurt.  Dad  mebby.  I  wanted 
to  saddle  my  hoss  and  ride  out  to  meet  up  with 
them,  but  Carpenter  wouldn't  hear  to  it.  We  stood 
there  watching  and  waiting  till  I  couldn't  stand  it 
any  longer.  I  run  out  to  meet  them,  in  spite  of 
Carpenter. 

There  was  blood  on  Dad's  legging.  "You're 
shot!"  I  says,  grabbing  Eagle's  bridle  to  lead  him 
in. 

"Leggo,  son,  leggo.  Git  my  duds  an'  I'll  put  'em 
on.  It's  only  a  scratch." 

I  let  go.  He  didn't  want  no  carrying  on,  though 
his  legging  was  soaked  with  blood.  I  ran  for  his 
shirt,  feeling  like  I'd  acted  silly. 

He  made  light  of  his  wound  when  I  he'ped  him 
bind  it  up,  but  I  knowed  it  was  mighty  sore  and 
hurt  him.  It  was  in  the  thigh — a  regular  deep  cut 
made  by  a  ball  that  plowed  a  groove  clean  'cross 
but  didn't  lodge. 

He  was  plumb  happy  because  Eagle  wa'n't  hurt 
and  said  so  more'n  once.  "Fink,"  he  says  while  we 
was  eating,  "that's  a  good  animal,  that  roan  of 
yours.  I'm  sorry  he  stopped  an  arrow." 

"Nothin'  to  hurt,"  says  Mike,  "an'  I'll  trade  him 
fer  yer  Eagle  an'  give  good  boot." 

Dad  laughed.     "Ain't  interested,"  he  says.  -  "I 


94          LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

might  want  to  get  out  of  the  country  pretty  fast 
some  day." 

"Not  as  fast  as  me,"  says  Fink.  "Well,  we're  in 
good  shape  here.  I  reckon  I'll  hev  to  adorn  Betsy. 
Five  more  notches,"  he  laughs,  cutting  nicks  in  his 
rifle  stock.  Dad  had  said  he  was  a  born  rattle- 
snake, and  I  knowed  he  was.  But  he  wa'n't  afraid 
of  anything.  I  was  sure  of  that. 

"How  fer  did  ye  run  'em?"  Carpenter  asked. 

"Nigh  an  hour,"  says  Bill  with  his  mouth  full  of 
dried  meat. 

"Put  up  any  fight?" 

"Only  them  that  hed  to." 

"This  rucus  ain't  over  yit,"  says  Dad.  "I'm  goin' 
ter  cut  some  grass  fer  Eagle,  an'  tie  him  handy 
under  the  bank." 

He  got  out  his  knife,  and  being  through  eating, 
we  all  went  at  it  and  cut  some  grass  for  the  war- 
hosses  while  Bill  and  Joe  turned  the  stock  out  of 
the  corral  to  let  them  fill  up  before  dark. 

There  wa'n't  any  use  to  try  to  hide  out,  so  we 
built  a  good  fire  and  cooked  supper.  At  sundown 
we  watered  the  stock  and  then  corralled  them,  all 
but  the  war-hosses,  which  we  tied  under  the  bank, 
saddled  and  ready  for  use.  We  piled  the  cut  grass 
where  they  could  eat,  and  then  we  was  ready  and 
begun  to  wait.  We  didn't  even  put  out  a  guard, 
but  one  of  the  men  stayed  close  to  the  edge  of  the 
bank  where  he  could  watch  the  corral. 

Nobody  wanted  to  sleep,  although  Dad  said  there 
was  time  for  a  good  nap  if  anybody  wanted  one. 
The  men  sat  around  and  talked  and  I  listened.  They 
told  of  Injin  medicine,  mostly,  and  I  was  glad  of 
it.  Dad  said  that  he'd  seen  an  Injin  who  was  bent 
on  goin'  to  war  or  on  a  hoss-stealing  raid,  kill  a 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER          95 

badger  and  bleed  him  on  a  rock.  Then  when  the 
rock  was  covered  with  the  blood  the  Injin  would 
look  in  it  quick.  If  he  saw  his  own  face  reflected 
clear,  he'd  go,  but  if  his  features  was  blurred,  he 
wouldn't  budge. 

Then  Bill  told  of  seeing  one  man  beat  off  a  whole 
war-party  by  acting  crazy.  That  set  Mike  Fink 
off,  and  I  didn't  know  whether  to  believe  what  he 
said  or  not,  but  it  was  a  good  yarn  anyway. 

He  said  that  once  a  war-party  run  onto  tracks 
in  the  snow,  but  not  being  able  to  tell  which  way 
the  man  that  made  the  tracks  was  going,  and  to  be 
sure  to  run  him  down,  the  party  divided  and  one 
half  went  one  way  and  the  rest  the  other.  At  last 
one  outfit  run  onto  the  man  asleep  by  his  fire.  His 
feet  was  sticking  out  from  under  his  robe  and  he 
was  awful  clubfooted — so  much  so  that  one  of  his 
feet  was  turned  backwards.  As  soon's  the  In j ins 
saw  the  man's  feet  they  lit  out. 

Then  Dad  said,  "But  jest  the  same  they  will 
fight,  an'  fight  hard,  if  their  medicine  is  good. 
Their  superstition  saves  us  lots  of  times,  an*  nothin* 
else." 

I've  seen  Injins  bleed  badgers  like  Dad  said  since 
then,  and  I  know  that  they  won't  bother  a  crazy 
man.  And  likely  the  club-foot  puzzled  them  and 
made  them  turn  back.  But  when  any  man  says 
Injins  won't  fight  he's  slandering  folks  he  don't 
know. 

The  men  talked  less  and  less  as  it  got  darker  and 
darker,  till  finally  they  was  still.  After  they  was 
quiet  for  a  spell  it  'peared  like  everybody  was  plumb 
afraid  to  break  in  on  the  stillness.  I  got  to  think- 
ing of  Injin  medicine,  and  of  Little  Pete.  His  camp 
had  been  here — mebby  he'd  slept  where  I  was  sit- 


96          LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

ting.  Then  I  thought  how  he'd  died;  and  then 
Caley  Byers  come  into  my  mind,  and  Aunt  Lib.  I 
felt  mighty  uncomfortable  and  as  skittish  as  I  did 
when  I  nigh  stepped  on  the  rattlesnake.  No  fire, 
no  noise,  only  the  river  rippling  over  the  bar.  Now 
and  again  a  hoss  would  snuffle  under  the  bank, 
and  every  time  I  heered  it  I  thought  it  was  some- 
thing else  for  a  second.  Directly  I  saw  a  star,  then 
another.  Then  the  wolves  begun  to  howl  back  yon- 
der. I  reckoned  mebby  they  was  on  the  trail  to 
the  coulee  where  Talbot's  hoss  was  dead.  Boaah! 
a  night-hawk  swooped  down  over  the  river,  letting 
out  a  noise  that  sounded  like  anything  but  a  bird. 
Then  I  saw  the  Big  Dipper  and  the  North  Star  come 
out  clear  and  felt  a  breeze  on  my  face,  cool  and 
fine.  Joe  moved  a  pack  a  little,  and  Talbot  next  to 
him,  changed  his  position.  I  was  glad  they  stirred. 
It  eased  me  up.  But  the  hours  dragged  and 
dragged,  till  at  last  the  stars  begun  to  fade  out  and 
I  knowed  day  wa'n't  far  off. 

Suddenly  Dad,  who  was  close  to  me,  raised  his 
rifle,  and  its  flash  nigh  blinded  me.  "They're  here," 
he  says,  reloading  his  gun. 

Talbot  fired — and  Fink — and  Bill.  And  seeing  a 
shadow  moving,  I  let  go  one  myse'f . 

"Down  low  everybody!"  says  Dad. 

Cracky!  there  was  a  passel  of  'em.  Next  come 
arrows,  thud !  into  the  packs,  and  over  us — a  cloud 
of  them.  I  could  hear  their  feathers  sing  past  like 
bullets.  Cracky!  After  them  come  a  passel  of 
shots.  I  could  see  the  flashes  and  heered  a  ball  land 
right  under  me  in  a  pack.  Then  more  arrows — a 
passel  of  'em. 

"Anybody  hit?"  asked  Dad,  sliding  down  to  load 
up. 


- 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER          97 

"Nope,"  says  Fink.  "I  got  two,  shore's  hell's 
afire." 

I  saw  something  crawling  towards  the  corral  and 
I  let  go. 

"That  was  a  good  one,  son,"  says  Dad,  cocking 
his  rifle.  "You  got  that  feller." 

I  couldn't  see  another  thing.  There  wa'n't  a 
sound,  except  the  water  on  the  bar. 

"They're  restin',  I  reckon,"  says  Dad  after  a 
spell.  "Joe,  was  the  brown  mute  bleedin'  much 
when  we  corralled 'em?  I  forgot  to  look.  Oh!  Joe. 
What's  wrong  with  Joe,  Talbot?" 

"By  God,  he's  dead !  Hit  plumb  in  the  forehead 
with  a  ball."  Talbot's  voice  was  husky,  like  his 
throat  was  dry. 

I  couldn't  speak  for  a  minute.  It  was  too  awful. 
Everybody  was  still,  thinking,  I  reckon,  same's  I 
was. 

"Too  bad,  son,"  Dad  whispered.  "We'll  make  'em 
pay  for  Joe.  That's  all  we  kin  do,  now." 

Seemed  as  though  our  voices  had  started  them 
again.  There  come  a  couple  of  shots  and  a  passel 
of  arrows. 

"I'm  hit,"  says  Talbot,  but  not  stopping  his  shoot- 
ing. 

"Bad?"  asked  Dad. 

"Nope — shoulder — arrow — Look  out,  Dad!" 

Dad's  rifle  flashed  and  a  yell  went  up. 

"My  God,  Dad,  they's  a  whole  passel  of  'em," 
says  Bill.  "Yonder,  yonder,  Mike!"  he  says,  load- 
ing as  fast  as  he  could.  "If  we  kin  only  stand  'em 
off  till  day,  we'll  make  'em  move." 

"Here,  son,"  said  Dad,  "move  on  the  other  side 
of  me.  Look  scatter  in'  down  nigh  the  corral  while 
I  load." 


98          LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

I  crawled  around  Dad.  Sure  enough  there  was 
four  or  five  In j ins  stealing  towards  the  corral.  I 
fired  and  loaded  and  fired  again.  Dad  kept  popping 
away,  steady,  as  fast  as  he  could  load.  Directly  we 
couldn't  see  a  thing  on  the  little  flat  down  by  the 
corral.  It  was  getting  light  fast  and  I  could  make 
out  the  trees  by  the  stream.  Day  was  most  there. 
I  could  see  the  packs  stuck  full  of  arrows  all  around 
us — and  poor  Joe  laying  dead  by  Talbot.  I  was 
stiff  from  staying  still  so  long  and  stretched  my 
legs. 

"Shoo!  I  reckoned  they'd  charge  at  daybreak, 
but  I  don't  see  ary  one/'  says  Dad  at  last.  "Mebby 
the  fight's  ours.  But  we'll  wait  a  spell  before  we 
move  around." 

"They  don't  know  they  hit  any  of  us,"  says  Fink. 
"We  got  a  mess  of  'em  last  night.  I  know  I  got 
several  myse'f ,  so  they've  got  a  lot  more  respect  for 
us  an'  our  medicine  than  they  had  before.  I'll  bet 
a  robe  they've  pulled  out — had  enough." 

"I  reckon  ye're  right,"  says  Dad,  "but  we'll  best 
sit  tight  till  it  gits  good  and  light." 

Fink  stood  up.  "Come  on,"  he  says,  "let's  bury 
Joe  an'  pack  up." 

"We'll  bury  Joe,  that  we  will,  an*  do  it  right," 
says  Dad.  "Then  we'll  scout  a  bit.  If  it's  safe 
we'll  move." 

I  could  feel  he  didn't  like  the  way  Fink  spoke. 
And  I  didn't 


CHAPTER  XI 

It  ain't  no  use  to  try  to  tell  how  we  felt  when  we 
buried  Joe.  Dad  felt  mighty  bad.  And  Bill  too.  I 
knowed  it  was  plumb  wicked,  but  I  couldn't  he'p 
think  what  if  it  was  Dad  instead  of  Joe — kinder 
comparing  how  I'd  feel  if  it  had  been  him — and  I 
felt  mean  and  ornery  for  doing  it.  But  you  can't 
fight  off  such  thoughts  once  they  get  going,  even 
if  you're  ashamed  of  them  and  turn  against  them. 
They  keep  hanging  on  like  a  shadow  you're  trying 
to  leave  behind.  I  reckon  I  felt  as  bad's  anybody 
though,  except  mebby  Dad.  I  could  see  how  he  felt 
by  his  face.  The  lines  hardened  up  and  he  looked 
older.  But  I  was  a  heap  sorrier  than  I  was  when 
my  father  was  killed,  and  that  kept  pestering  like 
it  was  against  decency.  I  couldn't  even  drive  it 
away  by  remembering  how  young  I  was  then.  That 
and  the  thought  that  I'd  be  a  heap  sorrier  if  it  was 
Dad  kept  shaming  me  and  making  me  feel  worse  all 
the  time  we  was  digging  the  grave. 

The  men  was  mighty  careful  about  the  dirt  they 
dug.  They  put  it  on  buffalo  robes,  and  when  the 
grave  was  filled  and  levelled  off  and  tramped  solid, 
they  packed  every  bit  of  it  to  the  river  and  dumped 
it  in.  Then  they  built  a  fire  on  the  grave  so  neither 
wolves  nor  In j ins  would  know  it  held  a  body. 

"Good-bye  to  ye,  Joe,"  says  Dad.  "Ye  was  a  man, 
all  man.  Amen." 

For  more'n  a  minute  nobody  moved.  A  lump 
come  into  my  throat  and  nigh  choked  me.  It  wa'n't 
much  to  say,  but  the  way  he  said  it  made  it  seem 
longer  and  better'n  a  whole  funeral  sermon 

99 


100        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

preached  by  Joshua  Moulds.  It  made  me  feel  that 
it  would  be  all  I'd  ask  if  a  good  man  could  say  as 
much  for  me  when  I  quit.  Seemed  as  though  it  held 
a  passel  of  praise,  and  a  promise,  too,  some  way, 
without  fussing,  either. 

"Come,"  he  says,  turning  away.  "It's  a  trail 
we'll  all  take  some  day,  some  way.  One  place  is  as 
good's  another,  too,  I  reckon.  Nature  kin  use  us, 
and  she  will.  I'd  ruther  go  to  he'p  the  wild  roses 
than  garden  flowers — an'  so  would  Joe.  But  when 
the  time  comes  we've  got  to  lay  'em  down,  no  mat- 
ter where  it  may  be,  ner  how." 

Then  right  away  he  shook  it  off — turned  his  talk 
to  ourse'fs.  "We'll  look  'round  a  bit,  an'  if  the 
In j ins  hes  left,  an'  I  reckon  they  hev,  we'll  pack  up 
an'  move,"  he  says,  walking  fast  towards  the  camp. 

The  Injins  had  gone.  Fink  and  Dad  rode  out 
while  we  cooked  a  breakfast,  and  Bill  and  me  pulled 
the  arrows  out  of  the  packs  and  shaped  up.  Then 
Talbot  and  Carpenter  brought  up  the  stock  and  we 
packed  and  lit  out.  Dad  and  Bill  gave  me  Joe's  war- 
hoss,  and  I  walked  with  the  other  men  and  led  him 
with  a  pad  on  his  back.  He  made  me  think  of  poor 
Joe;  but  owning  him  someway  put  me  up,  like,  in 
spite  of  thinking  it  was  low-down  to  profit  by  such 
a  thing  as  a  pardner's  death.  I  kept  arguing  with 
myse'f  that  I'd  willingly  give  a  hundred  hosses  if 
I  had  them  to  save  Joe,  but  the  ornery  side  kept 
horning  in  all  day  long  and  kept  me  miserable. 

Dad  and  Fink  was  ahead  and  I  tried  to  take  Joe's 
place  as  good  as  I  could  and  kept  behind  the  pack 
train.  Carpenter  and  Talbot  guarded  the  sides  and 
we  traveled  mighty  fast,  for  we'd  divided  some  of 
the  packs  and  used  some  of  Fink's  pack  hosses,  so 
the  loads  was  lighter. 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        101 

We  passed  dog-town  after  dog-town;  and  always 
there  was  coyotes  sitting  around  to  try  and  nail  a 
prairie  dog.  They'd  sneak  up  and  then  make  a  rush 
when  a  dog  had  strayed  out  from  his  hole  a  piece, 
and  sometimes  they'd  catch  them  but  not  often. 
The  dogs  was  curious  little  fellows,  sitting  up  as 
straight  as  ramrods  and  looking  like  a  passel  of 
posts  drove  in  the  ground.  They'd  bark  a  funny 
little  chirping  bark;  and  when  we  got  too  close 
they'd  pop  down  in  their  holes  with  a  flip  of  their 
tails.  The  towns  was  plumb  clean  of  all  grass,  and 
around  every  hole  there  was  a  pile  of  whitish  dirt 
the  dogs  had  dug  in  making  their  burrows.  I  fig- 
ured they  was  mighty  wise  in  handling  the  dirt. 
Piled  the  way  they  was  the  mounds  made  a  good 
place  to  sit  and  look  for  trouble,  and  besides  they 
kept  the  water  of  bad  rains  and  storms  from  flood- 
ing their  holes.  On  nigh  half  the  mounds,  too,  there 
was  little  long-legged  owls  sitting  and  looking  like 
they  knowed  more'n  anybody.  They  didn't  pay  any 
attention  to  the  prairie  dogs  nor  the  dogs  didn't 
mind  them,  but  each  tended  to  his  own  business, 
whatever  it  was. 

There  was  plenty  of  antelope  again.  And  twice 
we  saw  herds  of  buffalo  feeding  off  to  the  north.  I 
was  glad  to  see  them,  for  I  knowed  it  was  a  good 
sign  and  meant  there  wa'n't  any  Injins  close.  But 
we  kept  on  careful  till  night  and  then  camped  on  a 
water-hole.  There  wa'n't  a  thing  but  buffalo-chips 
to  build  a  fire  with  if  we'd  wanted  one,  and  the 
water  was  warm  and  tasted  bad.  The  rim  of  the 
water-hole  was  tracked  up  with  a  thousand  million 
of  antelope  tracks,  and  buffalo,  too.  Just  before 
dark  Bill  killed  a  fat  young  buck. 

We   moved    early   in   the   morning — and    every 


102        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

morning  for  three  days,  traveling  straight  across 
country  that  was  mighty  nigh  level.  The  sun  had 
plumb  baked  the  adobe  flats  along  the  streams  we 
crossed,  though  they  was  mighty  few  and  far  be- 
tween. 

It  was  the  afternoon  of  the  fourth  day  after  the 
fight  when  I  saw  a  strip  of  cottonwood  away  ahead. 
I  thought  fnebby  it  was  a  mirage,  at  first.  But 
directly  Dad  and  Fink  stopped  and  caught  up  their 
regular  saddle  hosses  and  got  on  them.  So  we  all 
mounted,  and  I  was  glad  to  ride  a  spell. 

"It's  jest  beyond  that  strip  of  timber  yonder, 
son,"  says  Dad.  "We'll  make  it  by  sundown." 

He  begun  to  slick  up,  combing  out  his  hair  with 
his  fingers  and  talking  happy,  like.  I  was  sure  glad 
and  perked  up.  It  seemed  like  letting  out  a  tight 
cinch.  We  was  all  talking  and  laughing  and  riding 
close  and  sociable.  Everybody  acted  like  he'd 
stepped  across  a  bad  place  lucky ;  and  even  the  stock 
showed  they  knowed  it.  Fink  begun  to  sing. 

When  we  trotted  over  a  little  swell  on  the  plain 
I  saw  horsemen  coming  lickety  split.  At  first  I 
thought  it  was  Injins.  But  Dad  says,  "Here  they 
come  to  say  'howdy';  they've  seen  us  a'ready,"  and 
Fink  and  Bill  rode  ahead  to  meet  them.  Dad 
stopped  and  got  on  Eagle,  who  begun  to  prance  and 
dance  like  he  wanted  to  run.  But  Dad  held  him 
in,  talking  to  him  quiet,  till  the  men  come  up. 

I  never  saw  anything  like  it.  Everybody  was 
talking  at  once  and  was  especially  glad  to  see  Dad. 
They  called  him  everything — cussed  him  and 
slapped  him  on  the  back,  laughing  like  boys.  They'd 
yell  like  Injins  and  shoot  and  ride  circles  around 
us  and  sing.  Everybody  nagged  and  jabbered  to 
git  a  word  in — all  talking  and  saying  mighty  little. 
But  they  was  sure  glad  to  see  us — though  no  glad- 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        103 

der,  I'll  bet,  than  I  was  to  see  them.  Some  kept  at 
it  till  Fink  and  Bill  climbed  up  behind  them  on 
their  hosses;  and  the  bucking  and  bawling  and 
laughing  beat  all  time.  One  hoss  threw  himse'f 
backward  so  Bill  skinned  his  nose  in  the  dirt.  "Ride 
in,  you  fellers!"  somebody  called  above  the  jangle. 
"Ride  in!  Me  and  Tom'll  fetch  in  the  train." 

It  was  like  a  pistol-shot  to  start  a  race.  Away 
we  went  over  the  plains,  through  a  dog-town, 
among  a  million  holes  in  the  ground,  like  mad  men. 
I  couldn't  have  held  my  bay  if  I'd  tried.  I  figured 
the  Yellowstone  would  stop  'em,  but  it  didn't.  They 
splashed  in,  ford  or  no  ford.  It  was  a  race  for  the 
other  side.  I  knowed  who'd  win  it,  and  he  did. 
Dad  and  Eagle  was  across  long  before  anybody 
else.  And  I  wish  you  could  have  seen  the  hosses. 
Every  one!  of  them  crazy  wild  for  the  race  and  stop- 
ping at  nothing,  full  of  mettle  and  trembling  like 
leaves.  I  never  did  see  the  beat. 

Dripping  wet  and  singing  any  song  we  knowed, 
we  rode  to  the  Post.  The  gate  was  wide  open,  and 
someone  let  off  a  cannon  as  we  turned  in.  The  wind 
of  it  hit  my  face  like  a  slap  and  my  hoss  shied  and 
nigh  upset  me;  but  I  yelled  with  the  rest  and  rode 
inside.  Dogs  was  barking,  Injin  drums  beating, 
and  if  ever  a  man  heered  bedlam  broke  plumb  loose, 
it  was  me.  One  feller  with  rings  in  his  ears  run 
out  with  a  flat  keg  and  a  cup,  singing  in  French  and 
offering  liquor.  They  was  sure  glad  to  see  us  and 
knowed  how  to  show  it,  I  reckoned. 

By  the  time  the  pack  train  got  in,  Dad  had  got 
a  set  of  lodge  poles  from  an  Injin  and  had  'em  up 
and  waiting  for  his  lodge-skin.  "Here  we  be,  son, 
as  our  officer  friend  said  in  St.  Louis.  An*  now 
we  kin  sleep  an'  sleep  an*  sleep,"  he  says,  filling  his 
pipe. 


CHAPTER  XII 

The  Ashley-Henry  Post  was  inside  a  stockade  of 
cottonwood  logs  set  in  the  ground  on  end  so  that 
they  was  more'n  ten  feet  high  in  a  solid  wall  all 
around  a  space  two  hundred  feet  by  one  hundred 
and  fifty  feet.  The  logs  was  pinned  together  on  the 
inside  with  pegged  girders,  and  resting  on  the 
girders  was  a  runway  where  men  could  stand  and 
defend  the  Post.  The  runway  was  high  enough  so 
a  man  could  see  outside  and  shoot  without  showing 
too  much  of  himse'f  to  In j ins.  The  gate  was  big 
and  heavy,  built  of  split  logs  and  hung  on  wooden 
hinges  that  made  an  awful  fuss  when  it  was  opened 
or  shut.  When  it  was  open  it  allowed  a  passage- 
way about  seven  or  eight  feet  wide.  In  each  of  the 
corners  opposite  from  the  gate  there  was  two  little 
cannon,  set  so  they  could  be  turned  loose  on  unwel- 
come visitors;  and  between  them  seven  little,  dirt- 
roofed  cabins  for  the  engagees  was  built  against 
the  wall,  the  runway  stopping  against  their  ends  so 
that  men  could  use  their  roofs  to  stand  on  in  a  fight. 
On  one  end  of  the  stockade — the  end  on  the  right  of 
the  gate,  going  in,  and  nigh  the  middle  of  the  wall, 
was  the  store — a  long,  low,  log  building  with  loop- 
holes cut  in  the  logs  and  along  the  side,  and  in  the 
end  towards  the  gate,  windows  that  had  hinged 
shutters  made  so  they  could  be  closed  on  the  inside. 
Down  along  the  right  hand  wall  a  little  way  from 
the  store  itse'f  was  the  storehouse,  and  further 
down,  with  quite  a  space  between  them,  the  black- 
smith shop,  without  any  door.  The  roofs  of  all  the 

104 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        105 

buildings  joined  onto  the  regular  runway  against 
the  walls,  so  men  could  walk  on  them  the  same  as 
on  the  runway.  The  corral  was  across  from  the 
blacksmith  shop  and  storehouse — a  good  big  one 
that  would  hold  considerable  stock.  Along  that  side 
of  the  stockade,  next  to  the  river,  there  wa'n't  any 
buildings,  but  there  was  several  Injin  lodges,  be- 
sides some  trappers'  camps  between  the  corral  and 
the  ends  of  the  enclosure. 

Altogether,  there  was  fifteen  men  in  the  Post, 
regular  hired  men.  Engagees,  they  called  them, 
and  they  was  all  white  except  two  interpreters,  who 
was  half-breeds  that  got  drunk  whenever  they  could 
and  had  a  passel  of  little,  sharp-eyed  boys  and  girls 
that  was  everywhere  and  full  of  mischief. 

Bill  went  off  with  Fink  and  his  pardners  as  soon 
as  we  got  unpacked;  so  Dad  and  I  was  alone.  We 
got  everything  inside  the  lodge,  making  it  so  full 
there  wa'n't  a  heap  of  room  left  even  after  we'd 
piled  everything  as  high  as  we  could  to  save  space. 
"Gone  to  git  drunk,"  says  Dad,  not  grumbling,  but 
thinking,  like.  "Good  pardner,"  he  says,  "none  bet- 
ter, but  he  hankers  for  liquor.  His  flat  keg's  nigh 
half -full  yit,  an'  he'll  pack  it  month  in  an'  month 
out  an'  never  tetch  it.  Never  knowed  him  to  tetch 
it  by  himse'f ;  but  I  reckoned  him  an'  Fink's  crowd 
would  finish  it  down  the  river  there.  The  buffalo 
herd  sobered  'em,  and  the  movin*  broke  up  the 
spree. 

"Seems  good  to  be  able  to  set  around  an'  know 
we  kin  sleep  an'  be  keerless,"  he  says,  sipping  a  cup 
of  tea.  "Reckon  we'll  stay  where  we  be,  son."  A 
gun  cracked  and  he  sat  up  straight  with  the  cup 
nigh  to  his  lips.  But  a  loud  laugh  followed  from 
over  at  the  store,  and  he  begun  to  sip  again. 


106        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

"Drunk,"  he  says,  "drunk  an'  singin.'  They'll 
likely  be  fightin'  before  mornin'." 

It  was  hot  in  the  lodge  and  I  raised  the  lodge-skin 
higher  on  the  breezy  side  so  the  cool  would  come  in. 
"Tomorrow,"  I  says,  "I'm  going  to  write  that 
letter." 

"Yes,  tomorrow  ye  kin  do  it,  son."  He  pulled  off 
his  head-silk  and  smoothed  his  hair;  and  then  as 
though  he  half  wanted  to  blame  Bill  and  excuse  him 
at  the  same  time,  he  begun:  "Son,  I  don't  aim  fer 
to  hev  ye  think  I  was  always  a  teetotaler,  'cause  I 
wa'n't.  I've  drinked  enough  liquor  to  float  a  keel- 
boat  an*  shot  away  more  lead  showin'  off  than 
would  sink  one  of  'em,  in  my  time.  Experience 
finally  weaned  me  from  liquor,  but  I  figure  she  was 
goin'  an  extra  gait  when  she  done  it.  Anyway  it 
took,  good  an*  plenty,  an*  I  ain't  drinked  a  drop  in 
goin'  on  twelve  years."  He  stopped  to  light  his 
pipe. 

"Eleven  years  ago  last  May,"  he  went  on,  "me 
an'  my  pardner,  Dug  Tiley,  cut  into  St.  Louis  with 
our  ketch.  It  was  a  good  one — one  of  the  best  I 
ever  hed  a  share  in.  The  town  was  full  of  trap- 
pers an'  river  men,  like  it  always  is.  Everybody 
was  havin'  a  frolic.  We  sold  out  good,  an'  jest  as 
soon  as  we  hed  bought  our  outfit  an'  paid  fer  it,  we 
got  drunk,  as  usual.  It  was  Tuesday  mornin'  when 
we  took  in  the  taverns,  an'  it  was  Tuesday  night 
when  we  called  on  the  dance  houses.  Before  mid- 
night I  lost  all  reckonin',  an'  aside  from  spots 
where  there  was  fights  er  fires,  I  don't  remember 
much.  Even  them's  dim. 

"Dug  had  a  bad  row  with  a  river-pirate  in  a 
hurdy-gurdy  house  an'  the  feller  cut  him  mighty 
bad — cut  his  right  ear  clean  off  an'  sliced  his  cheek 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        107 

like  a  beefsteak.  I  kin  see  him  now  with  his 
wounds  undressed  an*  bleedin'  into  his  liquor.  I 
may  hev  been  there  when  the  fuss  started,  but  if  I 
was,  it's  shore  my  senses  wa'n't.  Seems  like  I 
must  hev  been  outside  a  spell.  Anyhow,  when  I 
saw  Dug  to  remember  it,  he  was  cut  like  I  tell  ye, 
holdin'  a  glass  of  whiskey  in  his  hand  an*  walkin'  in 
a  circle,  nigh  blind  with  blood ;  an'  f  ollerin'  was  the 
man  with  the  knife.  I  took  it  up  for  Dug  an*  recol- 
lect nigh  killin'  the  devil  that  cut  him.  Mebby  I 
did.  I  know  he  cut  me  up  some  before  they  pulled 
me  off  him." 

He  stopped,  and  I  could  see  he  was  hating  to  tell 
the  yarn;  but  he  went  on,  talking  slower'n  ever. 
"After  that  I  remember  of  goin'  outside.  It  was 
a-pourin'  rain  an'  the  night  was  black  dark.  I 
started  f  er  a  hitch-rack  in  the  middle  of  the  street. 
The  light  from  the  dance-house  streaked  out  to  it 
an'  fell  upon  a  big  puddle  that  surrounded  it.  I 
made  fer  the  rack  like  I  tell  ye,  most  likely  with  a 
drunken  idee  of  ridin'.  Anyway,  I  went  up  to  a 
hoss  tied  there,  but  he  snorted  an'  thrashed  about 
till  he  knocked  me  down  in  the  mud  puddle.  All  the 
ponies  pulled  back,  an'  while  they  was  still  snortin' 
at  me  I  went  to  sleep  there  in  the  water  an'  mud. 

"That's  the  last  I  remember — the  snortin'  of  the 
hosses — till  I  waked  up  stiff  an'  sore  an'  ugly  as  a 
crippled  buffalo-bull.  There  was  a  buffalo  robe  over 
my  face;  an'  a  man  was  layin'  on  my  arm  on  one 
side,  while  on  the  other,  another  feller  was  jammed 
up  tight  agin  my  side  like  a  bed-hawg.  'Lay  over, 
damn  ye,'  I  growled,  an'  dug  my  elbow  agin  his 
belly.  But  he  didn't  move.  I  give  him  a  couple 
more  good  ones,  but  still  he  didn't  stir.  So  I  set  up 
to  move  him.  He  was  dead,  son,  stone  dead,  with 


108        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

his  glassy  eyes  wide  open  an*  his  ugly  mouth  agap. 
Next  to  me  was  another  corpse — the  feller  that  was 
layin'  on  my  arm  when  I  waked  up.  His  jaw  an' 
chin  was  all  shot  away  an*  his  teeth  hung  like  fringe 
from  shreds  of  flesh  an'  bone. 

"There  was  three  of  'em  besides  me  under  that 
robe,  an*  the  others  was  dead  men.  I  didn't  camp 
there  long,  son.  I  moved  out.  Jest  as  I  did  a 
wagon  with  four  men  in  it  backed  up  to  the  robe. 
They  hed  some  shovels;  an*  ye'd  oughter  seen  'em 
stare  at  me  gittin'  away  from  that  herd  of  dead 
ones.  Son,  if  I'd  a-slept  jest  a  leetle  longer  they'd 
hev  buried  me  sure's  hell's  afire.  That's  when  I 
swore  off." 

"Cracky!"  I  says.  "How  was  the  men  killed, 
Dad?" 

"Well,  ye  see,  sometime  after  I  went  outside  a 
big  fight  started,  an'  there  was  a  heap  of  shootin' 
done.  After  it  was  over  they  jest  gathered  up  the 
dead,  an'  findin'  me  near  the  hitch-rack  in  the  pud- 
dle with  blood  all  over  me,  they  jest  natcherly 
counted  me  in,  too.  Yes,  son,  if  I'd  a-slept  jest  a 
leetle  longer,  I'd  a-been  buried  alive.  I  know  I 
would." 

"Cracky!"  I  says.    "What  became  of  Dug  Tiley?" 

"Never  got  over  it.  Took  cold  in  his  wounds  an' 
died  a  month  after.  I  camped  with  him  till  he 
crossed.  Hated  awful  to  see  him  go,  for  he  was  a 
good  man,  Dug  was.  Wished  Bill  wa'n't  so  keen 
fer  liquor,  but  I  orten't  complain,  I  reckon;  fer  if 
it  hedn't  a-been  fer  what  I  told  ye,  I'd  a-been 
worse'n  him.  If  I  was  you  I'd  never  start  it,  son. 
It's  a  trail  that  don't  lead  nowhere." 

I  was  right  glad  he  told  me  that  story.  Some- 
times I'd  wondered  why,  unlike  the  rest,  he  never 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        109 

touched  liquor,  but  watched  his  friends  drink  with- 
out much  objection.  I'd  felt  that  if  he  had  been 
hard  set  against  drinking  like  some  folks  is,  he 
wouldn't  have  acted  the  way  he  did;  but  his  story 
made  me  see  why  he  let  liquor  alone,  himse'f . 

It  was  right  dusky  in  the  lodge  now  and  a  heap 
cooler  since  the  sun  had  set.  I  was  unrolling  my 
bed  when  a  man  come  to  the  door. 

"Hello,  Jim!  Come  in  an*  rest  yourse'f,"  says 
Dad,  moving  so  that  the  visitor  could  sit  down  be- 
side him.  I  never  knowed  his  last  name.  They 
called  him  Big  Jim,  and  he  was  one  of  the  men  who 
brought  in  our  pack  train  that  afternoon.  Also  he'd 
been  Little  Pete's  pardner. 

"Do  ye  reckon  'twas  Blackfeet  that  jumped  Lit- 
tle Pete,  Jim?"  says  Dad  when  the  big  fellow  had 
set  down  in  the  lodge. 

"Ain't  noway  sure,"  he  says.  "I  was  wantin'  to 
talk  to  ye  about  it." 

He  commenced  to  fill  his  pipe,  slow,  and  awkward 
with  his  hands.  His  shirt  was  black  with  grease 
and  one  sleeve  was  untied  so  his  big  sinewy  arm 
was  bare  to  the  elbow.  He  bent  over  to  dig  out  a 
coal  of  fire  from  the  ashes,  and  I  could  see  his  mid- 
dle finger  was  gone  from  his  left  hand.  When  he 
straightened  up  and  spoke  it  was  slow  and  with  a 
half  stutter  to  his  words. 

"Ye  see,"  he  begun,  "Little  Pete  was  plumb  alone 
when  he  went  under.  Last  winter  me  an'  him 
trapped  the  Missouri  below  the  Post  an'  worked 
some  on  the  Yellerstone.  I  ain't  noways  supersti- 
tious, but  Thanksgivin'  day,  near  as  I  know,  we  set 
fourteen  traps  on  the  Yellerstone.  In  the  mornin' 
when  we  visits  'em,  every  trap  was  sprung  an'  in 
the  last  one  down  the  stream  was  an  arrow — a  Crow 


110        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

arrow  with  a  cross  down  nigh  the  feathers.  It  was 
painted  on  the  shaft  with  blue  paint.  The  next  day 
one  of  my  pack-hosses  come  into  camp  with  an  ar- 
row stickin'  in  his  flank.  I  pulled  it  out,  an'  it  was 
a  mate  to  the  one  in  the  trap — cross  an'  all.  We 
moved  down  towards  the  Post  a  day's  drive;  an' 
when  I  went  to  build  a  fire,  damned  if  an  arrow 
wa'n't  stickin'  straight  up  on  the  spot  where  I'd 
intended  buildin'  it.  That  arrow  belonged  to  the 
same  quiver  with  the  other  two.  It  was  Crow,  ex- 
cept the  cross. 

"I  didn't  say  nothin'  to  Pete  just  then.  In  the 
mornin'  when  I  woke  up  it  was  early.  Pete  was 
with  the  stock.  We  intended  trappin'  from  where 
we  was  down  to  the  Post  below;  but  we  didn't  set 
a  trap.  Not  one.  Another  arrow  was  in  camp,  an' 
it  had  been  sent  by  a  bow.  We  come  on  into  the 
Post  an'  started  to  trap  the  Missouri,  all  the  time 
lookin'  f  er  more  arrows ;  but  nary  one  did  we  see !" 

"Curious,  Jim.  Mighty  curious,"  says  Dad. 
"Tryin'  to  scare  ye  off  the  Yellerstone,  mebby.  But 
why  all  the  trouble?  'Pears  to  me  that  if  the 
Crows — wait — " 

"Ye've  struck  it,"  interrupted  Jim.  "  'Twa'n't 
Injins.  But  I  didn't  guess  it  until  a  month  later — 
after  Christmas,  anyhow.  I  was  in  the  Post  to  get 
some  lead  an'  trade  in  some  beaver.  A  Crow  vil- 
lage was  camped  just  across  the  river  an'  a  big 
bunch  of  'em  was  tradin'  when  I  got  in.  A  whalin' 
big  brute  who  seemed  to  be  a  chief  among  'em  was 
talkin'  English  to  the  trader.  If  there  was  any 
Injin  in  his  breedin'  it  was  hid  by  nigger  blood, 
though  he  was  part  white." 

"Rose,"  says  Dad,  reaching  for  his  pipe. 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        111 

"Edwin  Rose,"  says  Jim.  "An*  if  ever  I  laid 
eyes  on  a  bad  one  that  was  the  man.  I'd  like  to 
hev  pulled  an  arrow  from  his  quiver,  but  I  knowed 
I'd  start  somethin'  if  I  did.  I  was  shore  he  was 
better  acquainted  with  me  than  I  was  with)  him, 
too." 

"I  hev  seen  him,"  said  Dad.  "He  was  a  river- 
pirate  between  New  Orleans  an'  St.  Louis  till  the 
law  got  him  fer  murder.  He  got  free  some  way  an' 
now  he's  a  chief  among  the  Crows.  He's  a  mulatto 
an'  as  full  of  fight  as  a  badger.  I've  heered  good 
things  of  Rose  as  well  as  bad,  but  he's  an  outlaw 
from  the  States.  He  wants  to  keep  us  off  the  Yel- 
lerstone,  likely;  an'  with  his  backin'  I'll  remember 
it.  He  stands  high  with  the  'Rees,  too.  He's  with 
them  as  much  as  he  is  with  the  Crows.  He's  a  bad 
man.  But  he  shore  was  square  with  Colonel  Leav- 
enworth  last  spring  in  the  battle  with  the  'Rees, 
even  if  Hunt  was  afraid  of  him  twelve  years  ago. 
cNez  Coupe.'  Yes,  I  know  him;  an'  I've  wondered 
that  he  don't  burn  this  Post." 

I  sat  there  waitin'  for  them  to  go  on.  But  I 
reckon  to  them  it  seemed  like  they'd  said  all  there 
was  to  say. 

Dad  thought  a  minute,  listening  to  the  racket 
over  at  the  store.  "Son,  mebby  me  an'  you'd  better 
try  to  git  Bill  to  camp,"  he  says. 

We  all  went  over,  Dad,  Big  Jim,  and  me.  The 
door  was  wide  open  and  the  place  dim-lit  by  cups 
of  grease  with  burning  rags  in  them,  smelling  fear- 
ful. And  such  carrying  on !  A  fiddle  was  going  to 
beat  all  time  and  men  dancing  to  the  music  with 
their  arms  around  each  other  like  one  of  them  was 
a  girl,  It  was  hotter'n  blazes  in  there,  made  hotter 


112        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

by  the  burning  grease  and  the  dancers ;  but  nobody 
seemed  to  notice  the  heat  and  sang  or  danced  to  the 
fiddle  as  hard  as  they  could  go.  Everybody  was 
dripping  sweat,  except  two  Injins  who  was  squatted 
against  the  wall  looking  on.  I  couldn't  figure 
whether  they  thought  the  men  was  plain  fools  or 
just  crazy.  Their  faces  didn't  tell. 

We  went  over  against  the  wall  and  looked  around 
for  Bill.  Directly  we  saw  him  back  in  the  shadows 
in  a  corner.  Dad  went  towards  him  and  I  slipped 
down  nigh  the  fiddler  who  was  setting  on  the  count- 
er. His  face,  shiny  with  sweat,  was  nigh  black  and 
had  deep  pock  marks.  There  was  rings  in  his  ears 
and  an  ugly  whitish  scar  reaching  up  from  the 
corner  of  his  mouth  to  his  left  eye,  which  was  sunk 
in,  like,  and  never  moved  nor  winked  no  matter 
which  way  he  looked.  His  other  eye'd  laugh  but 
that  one,  never.  It  just  stared  like  it  wa'n't  no 
relation  to  its  mate  and  wouldn't  get  glad  no  mat- 
ter what  happened  to  tickle  its  pardner.  His  head 
was  tied  round  with  a  dirty  red  cloth  and  his  hair 
was  fresh  bobbed  and  blacker'n  a  crow.  Cracky! 
I  used  to  see  that  face  in  my  dreams,  and  do  yet 
when  I'm  upset  by  something  or  other.  I  just 
couldn't  take  my  eyes  off  him.  He  worked  like  a 
nailer,  too,  fiddling  fast  and  steady  and  keeping 
time  with  his  heel  against  the  counter,  while  the 
sweat  poured  off  him;  and  that  one  eye  that  never 
winked  just  fastened  on  my  own,  though  it  didn't 
seem  to  see  me  or  anything  else. 

I  slipped  down  along  the  wall  a  bit  to  get  closer. 
A  drunk  Frenchman  stopped  me,  singing, 

"Dans  mon  chemin  j'ai  rencontre 
Trois  cavalieres  bien  montees  .  .  .  ." 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        113 

and  slopped  a  cup  of  liquor  on  my  arm.  He  never 
noticed  it  but  waved  the  cup: 

"L'on,  ton,  laridon  danee 
L'on,  ton, 

I've  heered  it  a  thousand  times  since  then. 

"What's  the  matter  with  that  man's  eye?"  I  says 
to  make  talk  and  mebby  get  away  without  a  quarrel. 

He  teetered  back  and  forth,  spilling  about  all  that 
was  left  in  the  cup.  "Dat's  glass  heye,"  he  hic- 
cuped.  "She's  buy  heem  New  Orlean."  He  took 
hold  of  my  shirt  to  steady  himse'f  and  leaning  for- 
ward till  his  chin  was  mighty  nigh  against  me, 
whispered  "Ma  frien',  de  hoi'  man,  she's  see  hout 
dat  heye.  Yas  siree !  She  do.  Wan  day  me  an'  de 
hoi'  man  is  look  por  de  'orse."  He  begun  to  look 
towards  the  fiddler  as  though  he  was  afraid  he'd 
hear  what  he  was  saying;  but  finding  he  was  busy 
with  his  music,  he  went  on,  "Jes'  bimeby  me  HI'm 
seeum  some  'orse — mebby  ten,  twelve.  HI'm  say, 
'Hoi  man,  me,  HI'm  seeum  some  'orse'  an'  HI'm 
point  ma  finger.  By  gar!  de  hoi  man,  she's  tak 
hout  dat  damn  heye,  she's  wipe  heem  wid  piece 
buckskeen,  she's  put  de  heye  back  hon  de  'ole,  she's 
look  queek.  'Yes  sar,  Pete,'  she's  says,  'dat's  dem 
'orse,  by  gar!'  She's  see  hout  dat  heye  same  lak 
de  nodder  wan." 

"Trois  cavalieres  bien  montees 
L'une  a  cheval,  1'autre  a  pied. 
L'on,  ton, 

away  he  went,  whirling  and  staggering  about  the 
room,  seeing  mighty  little  and  hearing  less.  I'd 
never  before  heered  of  a  glass  eye,  nor  seen  one, 


114        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

and  I  couldn't  more'n  half  believe  there  was  any 
such  thing. 

Suddenly  I  perked  up.  Someone  was  shouting 
above  the  racket:  "My  full  an'  complete  name  is 
M-I-C-K-E  P-H-I-N-C-K,  Mike  Fink!"  And  there 
he  was  on  the  other  side  of  the  fiddler,  pounding 
the  counter  with  his  fist,  though  the  fiddler  kept 
right  on  playing  like  he  wa'n't  there.  "Hi !  Good- 
eye,"  yelled  Fink.  "Stop  that  damned  fiddlin'.  I'm 
talkin' !" 

The  fiddle  stopped  and  the  singing,  too.  Even 
the  dancers  stood  where  they  was  while  Mike  spelled 
out  his  name  again.  "As  fer  East  as  Pittsburgh 
they  give  me  the  fifth  quarter  of  beef  not  to  shoot 
agin  'em,"  he  says,  pounding  the  counter  harder'n 
ever  and  talking  louder. 

Carpenter  slipped  nigh  to  him;  and  I  reckon  he 
knowed  Mike  was  wanting  to  go  to  war,  for  he  com- 
menced to  talk  low  to  him  and  put  his  hand  on  his 
shoulder,  friendly,  like,  and  anxious. 

"Git  away  from  me !"  Mike  shook  off  Carpenter's 
hand,  "Git  clean  away!"  he  snarls.  "Ye  stole  my 
squaw,  ye  low-down  skunk!" 

Talbot  run  up  to  them,  sobered.  "Don't  quarrel, 
boys,"  he  begs,  pulling  Carpenter  away. 

Mike  spit  after  them,  ornery  and  mean  as  a  bob- 
cat. "I  kin  lick  any  white  man,  Frenchman,  er 
Injin  in  this  here  Post — any  of  'em,"  he  says,  grit- 
ting his  teeth  till  I  could  hear  it  plain.  "My  name 
is  M-I-C-K-E  P-H-I-N-C-K— Mike  Fink!" 

It  got  still  again  in  the  store ;  but  the  little  drunk 
Frenchman,  full  of  good  nature  and  not  realizing 
Mike  was  mad,  staggered  across  the  room  with  his 
cup.  "Have  a  drink,  Meester  Fink,"  he  says,  teeter- 
ing like  he  might  fall  over  on  top  of  Fink. 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        115 

Mike  was  made  madder  by  the  fellow's  good  na- 
ture. He  grabbed  the  cup  out  of  his  hand  and 
threw  the  liquor  plumb  in  his  face.  "Hell,  if  I  want 
a  drink  I  kin  git  it  myse'f,  can't  I?"  he  yells.  "Keep 
away  from  me — clean  away !" 

Then  he  walked  right  out  of  the  door  as  straight's 
a  string.  I  was  glad,  and  so  was  everybody  else,  I 
reckon;  for  right  away  the  fiddle  started  up  again 
and  the  little  drunk  Frenchman  begun  to  sing  his 
song,  like  he  didn't  know  he  mighty  nigh  had  a  peck 
of  trouble. 

"Well,  son,"  says  Dad,  coming  up  to  me  with  Bill, 
"let's  go  to  camp  and  hev  a  good  sleep.  Bill's  comin' 
with  us." 

The  fresh  air  smelled  mighty  good.  A  little  night 
breeze  was  stirring,  and  back  of  the  Post,  a  piece, 
a  wolf  was  howling  like  all  get  out.  On  the  runway 
two  men  was  walking  back  and  forth;  but  besides 
them  we  didn't  see  a  soul.  The  lodges  was  all  dark. 
Two  Injin  dogs  was  answering  the  wolf  now  and 
again;  but  that  and  the  wolf  howling  was  about  the 
only  noise  we  heered,  except  the  racket  back  in  the 
store. 

Dad  kindled  a  little  fire  and  made  a  cup  of  tea  for 
Bill,  and  we  all  took  a  cup  with  him. 

"That  quarrel  of  Fink's  an'  Carpenter's  ain't  done 
yit,"  says  Dad  over  his  tea.  "They's  a  woman  in  it, 
an'  that  kind  o'  trouble's  like  a  carbuncle.  Old 
friendships  may  salve  it  an'  keep  it  down  fer  a 
spell,  but  it's  bound  to  come  to  a  head." 

"They'll  make  it  up  agin  before  mornin',"  laughed 
Bill.  "Mebby  'twon't  stay  made  up;  but  they'll  all 
three  be  back  in  the  store  inside  an  hour." 

"Mebby,"  says  Dad.  "When  I  was  over  there  the 
trader  told  me  that  Alex  Beasley  an*  Jake  Aber- 


116        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

nathy  left  word  with  him  to  tell  me  an*  you  they 
figured  on  throwin*  in  with  us  this  fall  an*  winter. 
The  trader  said  they'd  ought  to  be  here  now  an*  if 
we  liked  the  arrangement  we'd  better  wait  a  spell 
till  they  got  here.  How  does  it  strike  you,  Bill?" 

"Jake  an'  Alex's  good  men,"  says  Bill.  "I  figure 
'twould  be  a  good  plan  to  have  'em  with  us." 

"Good.  Son,  how  doj  ye  feel  about  hevin'  two 
more  men  in  the  party — two  more  besides  their 
skinner  and  flesher?"  Dad  says. 

"I'm  agreeable  to  whatever  you  an*  Bill  says  is 
for  the  best,"  I  answered,  feeling  mighty  good  to 
be  asked. 

"Then  we'll  wait  a  spell,"  says  Dad.  "If  they 
ain't  too  long  gittin'  here,  we'll  make  one  party  out 
of  theirs  an'  ours." 

"What  are  we  goin*  to  do  fer  a  skinner  and 
flesher  in  Joe's  place?"  asked  Bill. 

"I  can't  answer,"  says  Dad.  "We'll  think  about 
it  tonight  an*  talk  about  it  tomorrow.  Let's  turn 
in." 


CHAPTER  Xin 

I  layed  awake  a  long  time  after  Dad  and  Bill 
was  asleep.  The  noise  from  the  store,  now  high, 
then  low,  kept  up  as  long  as  I  remembered  any- 
thing. And  I  thought  a  good  deal  about  our  new 
pardners.  I  half  wished  they  wouldn't  turn  up.  I 
was  afraid  I  might  not  like  them.  I  tried  to  picture 
Alex,  but  I  couldn't  make  him  fit  our  party,  some- 
how, and  Jake  was  oif  color,  too.  I  reckoned  it  was 
his  name,  mebby,  for  the  only  Jake  I  knowed  was 
a  worthless  lot.  Then  I  thought  of  Joe  fer  a  spell, 
wondering  what  sort  of  a  man  might  take  his  place. 
I  heered  shots  twice,  but  they  didn't  disturb  Dad 
or  Bill;  and  at  last  I  went  to  sleep. 

Dad  had  a  fire  kindled  outside  the  lodge  when  I 
waked  up.  The  store  was  plumb  still  and  I  could 
see  men  stretched  out  under  the  runway  asleep. 
Two  was  setting  up  against  the  store  with  their 
heads  lopped  over  and  their  mouths  wide  open, 
sleeping  sound  but  not  very  still.  They  looked  silly. 
Bill  laughed.  "I'm  glad  I  ain't  one  of  'em,"  he  said 
starting  for  water. 

When  he  come  back,  Dad,  thinking  it  was  a  good 
time,  I  reckon,  said,  "Bill,  ye'd  please  me  if  ye'd 
call  the  spree  over.  Jake  an'  Alex  oughter  be  here 
any  day  now,  an*  as  soon  as  we  kin  we  ought  to  be 
jiggin'  fer  winter  quarters.  What  say?" 

"I'm  plumb  through,  Dad,"  he  says,  and  I  saw 
he  meant  it. 

We  wa'n't  in  no  hurry  with  breakfast.  There 
wa'n't  a  thing  that  needed  doing  except  my  letter, 

117 


118        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

and  as  soon  as  I  could  do  it  without  letting  on  it 
was  pestering  me,  I  reminded  Dad  of  it  again. 

"I've  got  a  quill  an*  some  paper  in  the  packs,"  he 
says,  "but  I  callate  we'd  best  write  it  over  to  the 
store.  We  got  to  give  the  letter  to  the  trader  any- 
way, an*  it'll  save  me  hevin'  to  dig  'em  out.  We'll 
wait  a  spell  'fore  we  go  over,  son,  an'  let  folks  git 
the  kinks  out  of  theirse'fs.  Ain't  no  call  to  hurry, 
nohow.  The  mail  don't  leave  this  p'int  every  day," 
he  says,  laughin'  and  pourin'  his  tea. 

But  other  folks  didn't  wait  to  visit  the  store,  I 
noticed.  For  directly  the  gate  opened  and  some 
Injins  rode  inside,  men,  women  and  children,  going 
straight  to  the  store,  where  they  got  down  and  went 
in — some  of  them.  One  old  woman  was  riding  a 
pudgy  mare  with  a  spotted  colt  following  close  be- 
hind. She  didn't  more  than  slow  up  when  the  little 
feller  went  after  his  breakfast.  It  didn't  bother 
her  a  bit.  She  got  off  on  the  other  side  and  let  him 
fill  up  while  she  went  in  to  trade. 

By  the  time  most  of  the  Injins  had  got  down  and 
before  the  man  had  the  gate  closed,  in  come  some 
more — half  -breeds,  mostly,  I  reckoned,  and  not  nigh 
so  trim-looking  nor  tidy  as  the  Injins,  theirse'fs. 
Colors !  Cracky !  It  was  nigh  as  bright  as  St.  Louis 
in  front  of  the  store.  And  the  hosses  was  of  every 
color,  too.  In  less'n  no  time  there  was  nigh  forty 
of  them,  lots  of  them  spotted,  some  of  them  with 
mighty  showy  rigging,  and  others  without  any  rig 
at  all,  only  a  rawhide  rope  hitched  on  the  underjaw. 

I  could  see  it  was  going  to  be  a  hot  day — still  and 
the  sky  clear  of  clouds,  though  the  beginning  of  a 
hot  wind  was  flapping  the  ears  of  the  lodge  a  little, 
and  over  there,  the  trappings  of  the  Injins'  hosses. 
The  women  begun  to  unload  some  of  them  that  was 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        119 

packed  with  robes,  and  as  fast  as  they  could  they 
carried  the  stuff  into  the  store.  I  was  itching  to  go 
over  and  watch  the  trading;  but  I  let  it  go  for 
more'n  an  hour. 

They  was  still  at  it  when  Dad  and  I  did  go, 
though  most  of  them  had  made  their  trade  and  was 
packing  up  to  get  out  again.  Every  one  of  them 
seemed  to  know  just  what  he  wanted  and  got  it  as 
quick  as  he  could. 

But  one,  a  tall,  thin,  man,  was  standing  still 
close  to  the  door  and  just  inside.  He  had  a  mighty 
fine  face,  though  it  was  seamed  up  right  smart  and 
looked  stern  and  proud.  Someway,  he  reminded 
me  of  Dad,  only  he  wa'n't  so  tall.  Now  and  again 
while  the  others  was  trading  he'd  say  a  few  words 
to  a  girl  by  his  side. 

It  ain't  right  easy  when  you've  seen  a  body  a 
heap  o'  times,  to  remember  how  they  looked  the 
first  time  you  ever  saw  them,  'thout  adding  things 
you've  kinder  discovered  a  little  at  a  time.  But  I 
remember  plain  how  she  looked  that  day. 

She  was  pretty  as  any  young  woman  I  ever  saw, 
her  black  eyes  eager,  though  she  stuck  timidly  to 
the  man's  side  like  she'd  give  a  lot  to  be  through 
and  away  from  there.  Her  black  hair  hung  long  in 
two  thick  braids  over  half -naked  shoulders  that  was 
round  and  brown  and  smooth-looking.  Her  arms 
was  bare  to  the  elbows,  and  she  had  little  hands  and 
little  feet.  Her  dress  was  made  of  brand  new  elk- 
skin,  not  smoked  much,  so  that  it  was  mighty  nigh 
white,  all  quill-worked  and  pretty's  could  be.  So 
was  her  moccasins  which  fit  her  like  her  feet  was 
made  for  'em.  There  was  a  little  streak  of  bright 
red  paint  in  the  part  of  her  hair ;  and  whenever  she 
moved  the  long,  thin  fringe  of  her  dress  trembled. 


120        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

I'd  never  seen  a  nicer  dress  nor  a  prettier  girl.  But 
she  wouldn't  look  at  anybody,  only  the  Injin  I 
knowed  was  her  father. 

When  the  last  load  of  goods  was  packed  out  the 
man  walked  over  to  the  counter  and  made  some 
signs  to  the  trader. 

"Wants  credit,"  says  Dad.    "They're  Crees." 

The  trader  signed  back  without  hesitating,  and 
Dad  says,  "He  gits  it,  too.  Now  watch  'em." 

And  I  did  watch  them.  I  made  up  my  mind  to 
learn  how  to  make  signs,  too. 

Up  and  down  along  the  counter  the  Injin  walked, 
the  girl  behind  him  like  a  shadow — just  as  still  and 
just  as  easy.  The  man  bought  one  thing  after  an- 
other, the  girl  taking  whatever  he  got  and  piling 
it  careful  on  the  floor;  till  finally  he  quit.  Then  he 
turned  around  and  put  his  hand  on  her  arm,  saying 
something  to  her  and  pushing  her  gently  to  the 
counter. 

"It's  her  turn  now,"  says  Dad.  "I  bet  I  know 
what  she'll  buy." 

So  did  I.  I'd  noticed  a  while  back  that  whenever 
some  of  the  other  women  got  a  red  blanket  she 
would  say  something  to  her  father.  I  could  tell  by 
the  way  she  looked  she  wanted  one,  too,  and  I  shore 
hoped  she'd  get  one.  I  watched  her  sign  the  trader. 
I  tell  you,  she  had  pretty  hands  and  arms.  As  soon 
as  she'd  made  her  wants  known,  sure  enough  the 
trader  and  she  come  back  to  the  pile  of  blankets 
beside  Dad  and  me.  He  showed  her  white  ones  and 
green  ones  and  striped  ones;  but  she  knowed  just 
what  she  wanted. 

It  was  a  red  one.  Her  eyes  wa'n't  lying  when 
the  other  women  got  theirs.  She  didn't  put  that 
blanket  in  the  pile  with  the  other  things.  She  put 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        121 

it  on  Injin  fashion,  over  her  dress.  But  it  didn't 
look  half  so  nice  as  the  dress,  and  I  wanted  to  tell 
her  so. 

Next  she  bought  some  beads — about  a  tin  cup 
full,  I  reckon,  of  all  colors,  every  color  separate  on 
a  string.  When  she  took  the  pile  in  her  hands,  so 
plumb  tickled  she  was  afraid  she'd  drop  or  break 
them,  she  looked  up  at  her  father  and  said  some- 
thing. He  laughed,  low  and  glad,  and  made  signs 
to  the  trader,  who  smiled  and  nodded  like  he  was 
interested.  He  was  a  good  trader  an'  knowed  how. 

"She  says  she  will  make  her  father  somd  fine 
leggings  with  the  beads,"  Dad  told  me. 

The  trader  tried  to  sell  her  more.  But,  no,  she 
had  everything  she  wanted.  She  was  plumb  satis- 
fied, and  you  could  see  it  in  her  face.  Dad  and  her 
father  begun  to  talk  in  signs  then,  and  she  to  make 
packs  out  of  the  stuff  they'd  bought,  laying  her  new 
blanket  on  the  counter  near  me. 

I  watched  her  work.  Her  hands  was  quick  as 
lightning ;  and  the  closer  I  got  the  prettier  I  thought 
her,  which  ain't  always  the  way  it  turns  out. 

I  reckon  I'd  been  looking  at  her  right  steady, 
when  suddenly  she  straightened  up  and  her  eyes  lit 
right  on  mine.  Cracky!  Hers  dropped  quicker'n 
scat.  She  said  something  to  her  father  in  a  voice 
so  low  I  didn't  reckon  he'd  hear  it.  But  he  turned 
and  come  to  her  side,  picked  up  the  biggest  part  of 
the  packs,  and  started  for  the  door.  "Ho !"  ha  says, 
and  laughed  out  loud.  It  made  him  look  mighty 
different,  that  laugh,  when  his  face  lit  up,  and  I 
liked  him. 

The  girl  shouldered  the  rest  of  the  goods  and  fol- 
lowed him.  It  looked  like  a  big  load,  for  she  was 
little.  I'd  have  carried  it  out,  but  I  didn't  reckon 


122        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

she'd  let  me.  Anyhow,  I  followed  them  to  the  door 
and  watched  them  pack  a  couple  of  hosses  with  the 
stuff.  She  was  handy  as  a  man,  and  as  quick.  She 
worked  on  the  off  side  and  knowed  her  job  as  well 
as  Dad  or  Bill,  and  heaps  better'n  I  did,  though  I'd 
been  making  a  hand  ever  since  Joe  was  killed. 

"Here,  son."  It  was  Dad,  and  he  was  grinning. 
"Better  take  this  here  quill  an*  paper  an*  git  that 
letter  wrote  before  ye  fergit  it,"  he  says.  "The 
trader  told  me  a  mackinaw  is  leavin'  fer  St.  Louis 
tomorrow,  an*  that's  lucky. 

I  could  feel  my  face  getting  red,  but  I  took  the 
quill  and  paper.  "Do  you  reckon  that  officer  was 
bad  hurt,  Dad?"  I  says. 

"Shoo !  no.  He's  plumb  forgot  all  about  that  little 
tap  before  now.  Ain't  no  call  to  mention  any  sech 
argument  in  yer  letter,  nohow,  son,"  he  laughed. 
"I'd  jest  write  an'  tell  'em  ye  didn't  know  nothin' 
'bout  that  killin',  an'  say  I  was  well  an'  gittin'  along. 
I've  fixed  it  so's  the  boat  will  take  yer  letter,  an* 
when  it's  wrote  jest  give  it  to  the  trader.  I'll  step 
over  to  the  lodge,  I  reckon,  an'  when  ye're  through 
ye  kin  f  oiler  me." 


CHAPTER  XIV 

It  was  harder  to  write  that  letter  than  I  had 
thought.  I  knowed  it  looked  mighty  bad  of  me, 
running  away  like  I  did ;  and  when  I  got  the  words 
down  on  the  paper  telling  I  didn't  kill  Caley  Byers, 
I  couldn't  excuse  myse'f  for  running  off.  I  didn't 
try  to.  If  I  had,  I  would  have  had  to  say  something 
about  Dad  hitting  the  officer.  I  couldn't  say  that, 
so  I  just  said  I  didn't  kill  Caley  Byers  and  didn't 
even  know  al?out  it  till  I  was  in  St.  Louis.  Some- 
how, I  reckoned  Aunt  Lib  would  believe  me,  and 
that  I  was  well.  Then  I  quit.  It  seemed  as  though 
if  I  couldn't  tell  it  all,  I  couldn't  tell  any  part  that 
would  excuse  me  in  running  off. 

I  gave  my  letter  to  the  trader  and  was  just  start- 
ing for  the  door  when  Mike  Fink  and  Carpenter 
come  in.  I  tried  to  slip  out,  pretending  to  be  fixing 
my  belt;  but  Mike  called,  "Come,  boy,  let's  licker 
up!" 

"I  don't  drink,"  I  says,  and  got  to  the  door. 

But  he  started  for  me.  "Wait,"  he  says,  and  I 
saw  he  was  more'n  half  drunk. 

Carpenter  caught  hold  of  his  arm.  "No,  no, 
Mike,"  he  says,  pulling  him  back.  "Let  the  boy 
alone.  Let's  me  an'  you  take  our  licker  by  ourse'f  s. 
It's  my  treat." 

Fink  begun  to  laugh.  It  sounded  nasty  and 
mean;  but  he  let  Carpenter  lead  him  towards  the 
back  end  where  the  liquor  was ;  and  I  went  on  over 
to  the  lodge. 

Dad  was  inside  mending  my  saddle  that  was  Joe's 

123 


124        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

and  Bill  was  half  asleep  on  a  robe,  with  the  sweat 
prickling  out  on  his  forehead. 

"It's  hotter'n  fire  in  here,"  Dad  says  when  I  sat 
down  near  Bill.  "Let's  git  outside  an*  set  in  the 
shade  of  the  lodge."  And  he  picked  up  the  saddle 
and  his  tools  and  we  moved  out,  him  and  me.  Bill 
raised  up,  too,  but  he  only  picked  up  a  stick  of  fire- 
wood and  propped  up  the  lodgeskin  higher  from  the 
ground  and  then  stretched  himse'f  again. 

"What  are  we  goin'  to  do  fer  a  camp-keeper, 
Dad?"  he  says,  wiping  his  forehead  with  his 
sleeve. 

"We  must  look  around,"  Dad  answered,  poking 
his  awl  into  the  leather  of  the  saddle.  "It'll  be  hard 
to  find  another  man  like  Joe.  He  was  a  mighty 
good  skinner  and  flesher,  Joe  was." 

"Couldn't  double  up  with  Jake  and  Alex's  men,  I 
reckon?"  suggested  Bill,  like  he  knowed  Dad  would 
object,  which  he  did. 

"No,"  he  says.  "  'Tain't  good  style  to  be  beholden 
to  others.  We'll  look  around  keerful,  keepin'  our 
eyes  open  an'  our  mouths  shet.  We  don't  want 
them  that's  lookin'  too  hard  fer  a  job.  Them  kind 
is  ginerally  small  potatoes."  Then  after  he'd  set 
with  the  saddle  in  his  lap  for  nigh  an  hour,  he  says, 
"Son,  we'll  hev  to  move  agin,  I  reckon.  The  sun's 
a-workin'  'round  here." 

And  so  we  moved,  Dad  and  I,  while  Bill  dozed 
on  the  buffalo  robe,  until  the  store  was  out  of  sight 
behind  the  lodge.  We  didn't  see  Fink  and  Carpen- 
ter coming  nor  even  hear  them,  until  they  stood 
before  us,  Mike  with  a  tin  cup  in  one  hand  and  his 
other  arm  around  Carpenter's  neck.  Stopping,  he 
bowed  low  to  Dad  and  me. 

"Good  afternoon,  gentlemen,"  he  says.     "Me  an' 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        125 

Carpenter's  made  it  all  up,  an*  we've  come  over  to 
tell  ye.  Ain't  we,  pardner?" 

"Yes,"  Carpenter  says,  glancing  queer  at  Dad. 

"Take  a  drink  then,"  says  Fink,  swinging  round 
the  cup  and  slopping  the  liquor. 

Carpenter  took  the  cup  and  drank.  Then  he  give 
it  back  to  Fink,  who  also  took  a  drink.  His  eyes 
was  red  and  he  swayed  a  little  on  his  feet  and  begun 
to  hiccup  between  his  words.  "We  drink  from  the 
same  cup,  me  an'  my  ol'  pardner,"  he  says,  slapping 
Carpenter  on  the  back.  "Yes,  sir,  an'  the  same  robe 
covers  us  both,  like  it  orter  do."  He  staggered  and 
spilled  nigh  all  the  rest  of  the  liquor,  but  straight- 
ening himse'f  and  looking  at  Carpenter  like  he 
didn't  see  him,  he  says:  "Say!  let's  show  'em  how 
our  confidence  is  after  our  little  squabble,  hey? 
Let's — let's  s-shoot  this  here  damned  cup  off'n  each 
other's  heads  at  seven — seventy  yards,  jes — jest  to 
show  'em,  hey?"  His  bleary  eyes  was  leering  at 
Carpenter  now,  daring  him,  like.  Carpenter  smiled, 
looking  at  Dad  kinder  helpless.  He  wa'n't  drunk; 
an'  somehow  I  knowed  Mike  wa'n't  so  far  gone  as 
he  acted. 

"Men,"  says  Dad,  sticking  the  awl  in  the  ground 
beside  him.  "Ye're  in  liquor,  an'  hands  ain't  none 
too  stiddy  then,  ner  eyes.  Better  go  slow." 

Fink  scowled  ornery.  "Liquor  never  stopped  me 
an'  my  pardner  from  drawin'  a  bead,"  he  says. 
"Let's  show  'em,  Carpenter,"  he  urged. 

Then  Carpenter  put  his  foot  into  it.  "Who'll 
shoot  first?"  he  says,  like  he  didn't  want  Mike  to 
think  he  was  afraid. 

"We'll  sky  a  copper,  an'  the  winner'll  shoot  first," 
says  Mike,  digging  into  his  pocket.  He  brought 
out  a  penny  an'  tossed  it  high. 


126        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

"Heads!"  calls  Carpenter,  as  the  coin  was  going 
up. 

"An'  tails  she  lies !"  laughed  Mike,  bending  over 
the  penny  that  fell  near  my  feet.  "See  f er  yerse'f ," 
he  says. 

And  sure  enough,  it  was  tails. 

"Ha,  ha,  ha!"  Fink  begun  to  laugh.  "Come  on, 
all  of  ye.  Everybody  outside  the  gate,  an*  we'll 
show  ye  what  confidence  between  pardners  is  like. 
Come  on,  Dad.  Down  the  saddle!  Come  an*  see 
if  liquor's  dimmed  my  eyes!" 

He  was  in  high  spirits,  and  I  noticed  he  wa'n't 
hiccuping  no  more,  nor  staggering  neither,  as  we 
went  along.  For  we  was  all  following  him  towards 
the  gate  like  it  was  the  only  thing  to  do.  "I'll  go 
an*  git  the  cup  filled  agin,  boys,"  he  says,  and  run 
into  the  store  as  we  passed.  And  everybody  in  the 
Post  joined  the  party,  eager  like  folks  is  to  see  a 
rucus. 

Talbot  come  out  and  fell  in  beside  Carpenter. 
They  begun  to  talk  low,  but  so's  I  heered  part  of 
what  they  was  saying.  Directly  Mike  rushed  past 
us  to  head  the  procession;  and  when  he  got  by, 
holding  the  cup  of  liquor  in  front  of  him,  Carpen- 
ter said:  "Talbot,  I  want  ye  to  hev  my  rifle,  pow- 
der horn,  pouch,  an'  pistol.  I  believe  Mike  will  kill 
me." 

Talbot  stopped  still  and  I  had  to  walk  on ;  but  I 
heered  him  pleading,  "Don't  be  a  fool  an'  let  him 
shoot  ye  down !" 

But  Carpenter  took  hold  of  Talbot's  arm  and 
started  with  him  to  follow  us  outside  the  gate.  I 
tried  to  get  to  tell  Dad  what  I'd  heered;  but  Fink 
was  with  him,  and  I  couldn't. 

No  sooner  had  we  strung  out  of  the  gate  than 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER         127 

Fink  shut  it  on  its  creaking  hinges  and  saying,  "All 
ready!"  he  handed  Carpenter  the  cup,  about  half 
full,  shook  hands  with  him,  paced  off  seventy  yards, 
and  turned  and  faced  him. 

My  knees  felt  like  they  did  when  I  run  onto  the 
rattlesnake  before  the  fight.  Carpenter  stepped 
away  from  Talbot,  stooped  and  picked  up  a  charred 
stick  from  an  old  lodge-fire,  and  blackened  a  little 
spot  on  the  cup.  Then  he  set  the  cup  square  on  his 
head. 

He  wa'n't  ten  feet  from  me;  nor  any  of  us,  for 
we  was  all  in  a  bunch.  "All  right  Mike,  let  her  go !" 
he  calls.  And  Fink  raised  his  rifle. 

My  muscles  tightened  awful.  The  muzzle  didn't 
wobble,  and  I  watched  to  see  it  flash.  But  Fink 
lowered  it,  and  I  loosened  up  some.  "Stand  still, 
Carpenter,"  he  calls.  "Don't  spill  that  liquor.  I'll 
be  wantin'  a  drink  in  a  holy  minute !" 

And  his  rifle  went  up  again  and  flashed. 

Carpenter  pitched  forward  on  his  face.  Talbot 
run  to  him  and  rolled  him  over.  There  was  a  bullet- 
hole  plumb  in  the  middle  of  his  forehead. 

"You've  spilled  that  liquor,  an'  I  need  it,"  called 
Mike,  dropping  the  butt  of  his  gun  to  the  ground. 

"You've  killed  him!"  cried  Talbot  hoarsely.  His 
hands  was  clenched  till  his  knuckles  was  white. 

"The  hell  I  have!  I  drawed  as  fine  a  bead  on 
that  cup  as  I  ever  did  in  my  life.  Damn  that  gun !" 
Mike  bent  his  head,  blowing  his  breath  into  the 
barrel  of  his  rifle  to  rid  it  of  smoke,  and  begun  to 
reload. 

"Come,  son,  let's  be  jiggin',"  whispered  Dad. 

And  we  turned  away.  "I  was  afeered  to  stay 
there,"  he  said.  "Afeered  I  might  mess  things  up 
more  if  I  did,  mebby." 


128        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

That's  all  he  said  till  we  got  back  to  the  lodge 
where  he  picked  up  Joe's  saddle  again  and  begun 
to  work  at  it.  I  set  down  beside  him,  but  there 
wa'n't  no  use  telling  him  what  I'd  heered  now.  I 
was  numbed  all  over  anyway — couldn't  think  of 
anything  but  Carpenter  with  the  tin  cup  on  his 
head,  ten  feet  from  me.  I'd  even  heered  the  bullet 
hit  him  plain. 

"Best  not  to  think  about  it,  son,"  says  Dad,  after 
we'd  been  setting  there  a  spell.  He  cut  a  raw-hide 
thong  with  his  knife,  slow,  like.  "Jest  drive  it  out 
of  yer  camp.  It's  like  a  skunk  an'  ain't  fit  to  asso- 
ciate with  nohow,"  he  says,  threading  the  thong 
through  a  hole  he'd  made  with  his  awl.  He  begun 
to  hum  a  tune;  but  I  knowed  his  mind  wa'n't  on  it, 
nor  his  work,  neither ;  and  directly  he  says :  "Crime 
itse'f  punishes  crime,  an'  all  debts  are  paid  by  all 
men.  A  day  don't  count,  nor  a  year.  The  score 
will  come  even;  it's  plumb  bound  to.  Reach!  me 
that  awl  again,  son." 

I  gave  him  the  awl.  And  then  I  saw  the  men 
trooping  in  through  the  gate,  "They're  coming 
back,"  I  says. 

"Yes;  more  liquor,  I  reckon.  An*  Bill's  with 
'em,"  he  says,  getting  up  and  carrying  the  saddle 
into  the  lodge. 

In  a  little  while  they  was  singing  over  at  the 
store.  And  when  more  than  an  hour  had  gone  by 
and  Bill  didn't  come,  Dad  says,  "Son,  jest  you  slip 
over  yonder  an'  hang  around  a  little  spell.  Don't 
say  nothin'  to  nobody;  not  even  Bill.  But  jest  ha'nt 
him,  like.  'Twill  be  a  reminder,  mebby,  an'  better'n 
f  er  me  to  go,  I  reckon." 

I  found  Bill  right  away,  leaning  against  the  wall 
across  the  room  from  the  counter  where  Fink  and 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        129 

the  rest  was  drinking.  I  slipped  over  to  him  and 
squatted  down  with  my  back  against  the  logs,  doing 
as  Dad  told  me.  Then  I  saw  Talbot,  alone  over  in 
the  corner.  He  was  watching  Fink  like  a  cat;  and 
I  took  to  watching  him. 

Mike  was  spelling  his  name  and  pounding  the 
counter  with  his  fist.  Suddenly  he  saw  Talbot,  and 
his  eyes  narrowed  and  looked  cunning  and  mean  as 
a  coyote's.  "I  say  my  name  is  M-I-C-K-E 
P-H-I-N-C-K,  Mike  Fink!"  he  says,  leering  at  Tal- 
bot. "An*  there's  more  dirty,  white-livered  cowards 
in  this  Post  than  would  patch  hell  a  mile.  7  kin 
lick  'em — any  of  'em!  I  say  I  kin  lick  any  white 
man,  Injin,  er  Frenchman  in  the  house,  er  any- 
where !  I  want  to  fight !  I'm  Mike  Fink,  an'  I  kin 
out-shoot  any " 

Talbot  was  close  to  his  side  in  a  second.  "That 
was  a  wild  shot  ye  made  this  afternoon !"  he  hissed 
through  his  teeth. 

Fink  jumped  back,  bumping  over  a  Frenchman. 
"I  killed  that  skunk  a-purpose — a-purpose,  you 
damned  fool !"  he  yelled,  his  face  white  with  rage. 

A  pistol  flashed  in  Talbot's  hand,  not  a  foot  from 
Mike's  heart  and  he  went  down. 

I  stood  up.  Talbot  bent  over  Mike  in  the  powder 
smoke.  "You  snake,"  he  hissed,  looking  down  at 
him  with  the  pistol  in  his  hand.  "You  low-down 
snake !  I  killed  ye  with  his  pistol — Carpenter's  own 
pistol!  Do  ye  hear  me,  damn  ye?" 

I  can  smell  that  powder-smoke  yet  and  see  him 
bending  over  Mike  Fink  with  the  pistol  in  his  hand. 
When  the  men  had  fallen  back  he  was  gone. 

Bill  and  I  went  to  the  lodge.  I  felt  glad  all  over, 
and  I  ain't  ashamed  to  say  it. 

But  we  never  saw  Talbot  again,  any  of  us.    He 


130        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

must  have  been  afraid  of  trouble  over  killing  Fink, 
although  he  need  not.  Anyhow,  he  slipped  out  of 
the  stockade  and  away;  and  that  fall  was  drowned 
while  trying  to  cross  a  river.  And  so  all  three  pard- 
ners  died  with  their  boots  on.  And  I  had  liked 
Carpenter — maybe  by  comparing  him  with  the 
other  two. 


CHAPTER  XV 

The  next  morning  we  did  some  trading  on  our 
own  account.  Dad  paid  ten  dollars  f  er  a  spade  that 
a  person  could  buy  at  Coon  Creek  fer  sixty  cents, 
easy.  We  bought  a  sawed-off  scatter-gun  from  a 
trapper  who  was  going  down  the  river,  in  the 
mackinaw,  besides.  Dad  said  it  would  be  good 
medicine  in  a  night  attack  at  close  quarters,  and  I 
reckoned  it  would. 

In  the  afternoon  there  was  some  hoss-racing  up 
the  river  a  piece  between  some  of  the  men  at  the 
Post  and  In j ins.  I  wanted  to  see  it  and  mighty  nigh 
decided  to  go  with  Bill  who  started  early  with  some 
more  men;  but  Dad  said  he'd  stay  and  tinker  the 
rigging  and  I  didn't  want  to  leave  him  behind,  so 
I  didn't  go. 

It  was  nigh  sundown  when  Bill  come  back.  Dad 
was  cooking  supper  just  outside  the  lodge,  broiling 
some  fat  buffalo  steaks  on  willow  coals.  I  watched 
him  lay  green  willows  on  the  coals,  some  one  way 
and  some  another,  crosswise  of  the  first.  Then  he 
spread  the  steaks  on  the  sticks  and  salted  them 
plenty.  The  meat  sizzled  and  wrinkled  and  smelled 
mighty  good;  and  in  no  time  he  took  hold  of  the 
two  outer  sticks  and  flopped  it  over.  It  was 
browned  in  squares,  like,  and  fairly  bubbling  with 
its  own  fat.  The  green  willow  sticks  didn't  even 
start  to  burn,  and  Dad  said  the  bark  would  flavor 
the  meat.  He  took  pains  with  it,  I  tell  you,  and 
was  right  busy,  squatting  before  the  hot  coals  with 
one  knee  on  the  ground  and  both  hands  tending  to 
three  big  steaks. 

131 


132        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

Bill's  mouth  fairly  watered  when  he  smelled  the 
meat.  "Ho!  pardner,"  he  laughed.  "I'm  wolfish 
an'  kin  spot  fat  cow  a  mile  off." 

"He'p  yerse'f,"  says  Dad,  handing  him  over  a 
dripping  steak  on  the  willows,  right  off  the  coals. 

"I  saw  Kenneth  McLeod  today ;  an'  if  ye're  agree- 
able I  reckon  I  could  git  him  fer  our  camp-tender," 
said  Bill,  taking  the  steak.  "I  didn't  say  nothin'  to 
him — thought  I'd  wait.  He's  a  breed,  but  I  knowed 
his  father  down  below,  an'  he  was  a  good  man.  His 
mother's  a  Cree  woman,"  he  says. 

"I'm  agreeable  if  ye  know  him,"  Dad  told  him. 
"His  Injin  blood  ain't  no  bar  with  me.  Git  him 
if  ye  reckon  he's  fit." 

Cracky !  the  meat  was  good.  Dad  got  up  and  cut 
two  more  steaks  and  spread  them  on  the  coals;  but 
the  fire  wa'n't  so  good  as  it  had  been. 

"McLeod  told  me  he  was  with  the  Crees  above 
here,"  says  Bill,  taking  a  drink  of  water  in  great 
gulps.  "I'll  see  him  tomorrow.  'Tain't  far  to  the 
village,  most  likely,"  he  says. 

"No,"  says  Dad,  turning  the  meat  again,  "Red 
Robe  told  me  the  Crees  was  camped  about  an  hour's 
ride  up  the  Yellowstone.  Must  be  a  right  smart 
village  of  'em  to  be  where  they  are.  Ye'd  better 
ride  out  an'  see  McLeod  in  the  mornin',  Bill.  Jake 
an*  Alex  oughter  be  here  now,  mighty  quick." 

Red  Robe.  That  was  the  name  of  the  girl's 
father — the  girl  I'd  seen  in  the  store.  I  wanted  to 
see  her  again.  And  long  after  Dad  and  Bill  was 
asleep  that  night  I  thought  about  her  and  wondered 
if  Dad  would  plague  me  if  I  went  with  Bill.  The 
longer  I  thought  about  going  the  more  I  wanted  to 
see  her,  and  before  I  went  to  sleep  I'd  decided  I'd 
go  anyway,  even  if  Dad  did  poke  fun  at  me.  I'd 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        133 

never  seen  a  big  Injin  village,  and  now  I  had  a 
chance. 

I  waked  up  just  at  day  and  built  a  fire.  Then  I 
went  down  to  the  river  and  took  a  swim.  By  the 
time  I  got  back  with  a  kettle  of  water  Dad  and  Bill 
was  up,  and  Dad  said,  "Conscience  troublin'  ye, 
son?" 

"Nope,"  I  says.  "I  thought  I'd  go  'long  with  Bill 
and  see  the  Injin  village,  so  being  awake  I  turned 
out." 

"Shoo!"  he  laughs,  "I  wouldn't  let  it  keep  me 
awake,  less  it  was  a  hostile  village.  But  mebby  it's 
only  a  red  blanket  that's  pesterin',  son."  He  said 
it  low  so  I  knowed  Bill  didn't  hear  it. 

But  I  was  glad  I'd  out  with  it  anyway.  It  was 
settled,  and  I  felt  better.  So  while  Dad  was  down 
at  the  river  I  told  Bill  I  was  going  with  him.  "All 
right,"  he  says.  "I'll  send  an  Injin  out  fer  a  couple 
of  hosses." 

Before  the  sun  was  up  we  rode  out  of  the  gate 
and  up  the  river.  It  was  a  still  morning,  and  going 
to  fetch  in  a  hot  day.  We  passed  the  herders  with 
our  hosses  and  mules.  Eagle,  Dad's  white  gelding, 
was  fat  and  as  sleek  as  an  ivy  leaf,  and  my  hoss 
that  was  Joe's  war-pony  looked  good,  too;  and  so 
did  all  the  stock,  for  that  matter. 

Directly  I  saw  an  Injin  on  top  of  a  knoll  beyond 
us.  He  was  waving  a  robe  over  his  head.  After- 
wards he  dropped  it,  picked  it  up,  and  dropped  it 
again.  "He's  tellin'  the  village  we're  comin',"  says 
Bill.  "It's  early  yit  an'  most  likely  the  hunters  are 
still  in  camp." 

We  passed  close  to  the  foot  of  the  knoll,  not  see- 
ing the  Injin  any  more;  and  riding  around  a  point 
of  timber,  we  come  in  sight  of  the  village — more 


134        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

than  a  hundred  lodges  in  a  grove  of  big  trees  by  the 
river.  The  sun  was  coming  up,  and  there  was  just 
enough  breeze  to  stir  the  leaves  on  the  tall  cotton- 
woods.  The  lodges  was  pitched  in  a  big  circle  with 
their  doors  faced  to  the  rising  sun — skin-lodges  all 
shaped  alike,  though  not  all  of  a  size.  Some  of 
them,  half  hidden  by  the  bushes,  looked  far  away 
and  kind  of  make-believes  in  the  circle  that  reached 
from  the  river's  bank  to  the  outer  edge  of  the 
grove.  Some  was  painted  queer-like,  with  funny 
looking  animals  on  them.  You  could  tell  what 
every  animal  was  intended  to  represent,  and  some 
of  them  was  mighty  well  done.  I  never  saw  so 
many  dogs — cur-dogs  that  looked  like  wolves;  and 
fine  hosses  was  staked  here  and  there  in  the  village, 
fat  and  sleek  as  butter.  I  knowed  right  away  they 
was  picked  buffalo-runners,  and  war-ponies  kept 
handy  in  case  of  trouble. 

We  rode  into  the  village  between  two  fine  lodges. 
When  we  stopped  and  got  down,  just  inside,  I  saw 
a  dozen  groups  of  men  sitting  in  the  shade  under 
the  trees,  off  to  our  right.  Directly  a  tall,  oldish 
man  got  up  in  the  group  nearest  to  us  andi  said 
something  to  another  man.  Then  he  got  up.  He 
was  a  half-breed.  They  both  come  over  to  where 
we  was  standing  and  the  old  man  said,  "How," 
right  agreeable.  He  said  something  to  the  half- 
breed,  and  directly  the  breed  says,  "De  Chief,  she's 
want  you  por  tell  heem  wat  you  want." 

Bill  says,  "Tell  the  Chief  I'm  wantin'  to  talk  to 
Kenneth  McLeod." 

The  fellow  didn't  know  who  he  meant  at  first,  but 
directly  after  Bill  described  McLeod,  he  under- 
stood. 

"Hees     nam'     Kap-sah-sik     Mo-ca-mon;     Leetle 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        135 

Knife,"  he  says,  and  he  repeated  to  the  Chief  what 
we  wanted. 

The  Chief — his  name  was  Big  Bear — said  some- 
thing to  the  breed,  and  the  fellow  untied  a  pony 
near  us  and,  straddling  him  quicker'n  lightning, 
rode  about  the  village,  calling  out  something  in 
Cree.  It  was  all  in  one  tone  of  voice  and  sounded 
wild  as  all  get  out  to  me  then. 

I  couldn't  see  a  woman  anywhere,  though  I 
looked.  I  could  catch  glimpses  of  their  faces  peep- 
ing from  under  the  lodge-skins  that  was  raised 
from  the  ground  so  that  the  breeze  could  pass 
under;  but  none  of  them  come  out.  There  was 
plenty  of  children  hid  behind  the  lodges  and  trees. 
They  stole  shy  glances  at  us  now  and  again;  but 
they  was  quiet,  and  whenever  they  caught  us  look- 
ing at  them,  drew  back  like  shadows,  plumb  out  of 
sight.  I  was  hoping  some  to  see  the  girl  that  had 
been  trading  at  the  store;  but  you'd  hardly  know 
there  was  a  woman  in  the  village,  and  I  gave  It  up. 

Directly  here  come  seven  men,  the  breed  leading 
them.  They  was  headmen  and  members  of  the 
Council.  The  girl's  father  was  one  of  them.  They 
spread  two  robes  and  we  all  knelt  down  on  them. 
Then  Red  Robe  filled  a  big  stone  pipe  and  after  he'd 
got  it  going  good,  handed  it  to  the  Chief.  The  old 
Chief  was  mighty  solemn  with  it,  and  you  could  see 
he  was  in  earnest,  the  way  he  handled  it  before  he 
passed  it  to  us.  We  all  smoked  it — the  Injins  and 
Bill  and  me. 

I  was  wondering  which  was  MoLeod  and  looked 
them  all  over  while  Bill  talked.  He  told  the  story 
of  our  trip  up  the  river — our  fight,  and  how  Joe  got 
killed — in  English,  talking  to  nobody  in  particular; 
but  everybody  listened  whether  they  understood  or 


136        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

not.  That  was  the  first  time  I  knowed  that  an 
Injin  will  always  let  you  have  your  say  till  you're 
plumb  through.  Bill  wound  up  by  saying  he  wanted 
McLeod  to  go  with  us  and  that  we  would  pay  him 
thirty  dollars  a  month. 

You  would  have  thought  McLeod  would  answer 
then,  but  he  didn't.  As  soon  as  Bill  had  finished, 
Red  Robe  filled  the  pipe  again  out  of  a  mighty 
pretty  pouch  and  we  smoked.  It  was  queer  to  me 
then ;  but  I've  found  there  are  fewer  mistakes  made 
by  smoking  between  an  important  question  and  an 
answer. 

When  the  pipe  had  been  plumb  around,  a  smallish 
man  across  from  the  Chief  begun  to  speak  in  Cree. 
I  reckoned  he  was  re-telling  everything  Bill  had 
said,  for  the  Chief  and  the  other  men  listened,  and 
now  and  again  one  would  say  "Ho !"  or  "Ahh !"  but 
never  interrupted  till  the  smallish  man  was  done 
talking.  Then  we  smoked  again,  slow  as  ever,  and 
when  we'd  done  that  the  Chief  talked  and  after  him 
everybody  had  a  say.  When  the  last  had  spoken, 
the  little  man  got  up  and  shook  hands  with  Bill.  He 
was  Kap-sah-sik  Mo-ca-mon,  Little  Knife,  Kenneth 
McLeod. 

"HI'll  go,  me,"  he  said. 

And  right  away  I  liked  him.  He  was  as  quick 
and  sure  in  his  movements  as  a  cat,  and  would  look 
you  right  in  the  eye. 

"You'll  want  two  hosses,"  says  Bill,  "an*  we'd 
like  fer  ye  to  come  in  as  soon's  ye  kin,  f er  we  want 
to  make  winter  quarters." 

McLeod  squatted  on  the  robe.  "Tomorrow,  me, 
HI'm  come  wid  two  'orse,"  he  said.  And  Red  Robe 
filled  and  lit  the  pipe. 

I  begun  to  figure  which  was  Red  Robe's  lodge  and 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        137 

made  up  my  mind  to  watch  which  one  he  went  into 
when  we  got  through ;  but  directly  the  smoking  was 
finished  Bill  says,  "Well,  Lige,  I  reckon  we're  done 
here."  And  I  couldn't  think  of  any  excuse  to  hin- 
der us  going. 

It  was  nigh  noon  when  we  got  back  to  the  Post, 
and  Dad  was  tickled  plenty.  Alex  and  Jake  had 
come  in,  and  we'd  hired  Mac  in  Joe's  place.  Dad 
was  alone  in  the  lodge,  though,  for  Alex  and  Jake 
and  their  skinners  was  over  at  the  store.  "The 
boys'll  want  to  spree  a  little,  an'  mind  yer  promise, 
Bill,"  says  Dad,  hoisting  up  the  lodgeskin  to  let  the 
breeze  come  in. 

"I'm  done,  Dad,"  Bill  says,  like  he  didn't  want  to 
be  reminded. 

"They  want  to  trap  as  far  up  as  the  Marias,"  Dad 
went  on  like  he  didn't  notice  he'd  made  Bill  peevish. 
"I  think  it's  a  good  idee;  but  that's  the  Blackfoot 
country.  They'll  be  eight  of  us  with  their  skin- 
ners, though,  an'  we  orter  be  able  to  make  out  if 
we're  keerful." 

"I'm  agreeable,"  says  Bill,  all  smoothed  again. 
And  Dad  and  him  talked  about  the  Blackfoot  coun- 
try. Dad  had  been  there  once  and  almost  got 
caught. 

It  was  nigh  sundown  and  the  breeze  felt  good, 
coming  down  the  river  from  towards  the  moun- 
tains, when  Jake  and  Alex  and  their  skinners  come 
back  to  the  lodge.  I  listened  to  them  talk,  figuring 
some  on  liking  our  new  pardners;  though  they 
wa'n't  exactly  pardners  but  a  separate  outfit  by 
themse'fs,  which  had  joined  us  for  strength.  At 
last  Alex  says,  "All  right,  Dad.  It's  the  upper 
country  then,  and  nigh  the  Marias.  We'll  be  ready, 
me  an'  Jake,  day  after  tomorrow  at  daybreak.  Let's 
us  all  go  over  an'  take  a  little  liquor?" 


138        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 


"No,"  says  Dad,  "we're  through,  but  you  boys 
go  on." 

Bill  watched  them  head  fer  the  store  like  he 
wanted  mightily  to  go,  but  begun  to  unroll  his  bed. 
And  in  a  little  while  we  had  all  done  the  same. 

Somehow,  I  knowed  I'd  like  Alex  Beasley.  I 
could  see  good  nature  in  his  blue  eyes.  He  was  tall, 
and  fair  as  Dad,  and  his  hair  was  right  curly  and 
hung  around  his  shoulders  in  fluffs.  He  wa'n't  over 
thirty  I  reckoned,  but  account  of  a  bullet  in  his 
leg,  he  walked  with  a  limp  which  made  him  appear 
some  older  than  he  was. 

His  pardner,  Jake  Abernathy,  was  stockier  and 
darker  and  not  so  tall.  He  was  mighty  round- 
shouldered — said  he  got  that  way  dodgin'  truck  his 
step-mother  throwed  at  him  when  he  was  a  boy — 
and  his  arms  was  longer  than  usual.  Alex  and 
Jake  had  been  pardners  for  eight  years,  and  they 
got  along  better'n  most  men  do. 

Their  skinners,  Tom  Ferguson  and  Sandy  Ander- 
son was  cousins,  alike  in  many  ways,  but  different 
most  in  talking.  Tom  was  always  at  it  and  Sandy 
had  little  to  say. 

I  saw  right  away  that  Dad  and  Bill  liked  them 
all;  and  so  did  I,  especially  Alex. 

The  next  morning  after  breakfast  Bill  went  out 
to  look  at  our  stock  while  Dad  and  I  worked  at  odd 
chores  that  needed  doing — pack-rigging,  mostly.  I 
run  onto  Bill's  flat  keg,  and  found  it  was  nigh  half 
full  yet.  "I  don't  believe  Bill's  touched  a  drop  of 
his  liquor  since  we  camped  with  Fink  and  his 
party,"  I  says. 

"It's  queer,  son,"  laughed  Dad.  "Bill  loves  liquor, 
but  somehow  he  kin  torment  himse'f  by  packin' 
that  keg  an'  never  tetch  it.  Let  him  get  where 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        139 

liquor's  fer  sale,  an'  he'll  trade  his  ammunition  fer 
it.  It  uster  bother  me,  havin'  him  pack  that  keg, 
but  I  never  think  of  it  no  more,  even  in  the  Injin 
country.  Bill  jest  packs  that  keg  to  spite  himse'f. 
I  hear  ye're  hankerin'  to  learn  Cree,  son." 

I'd  told  Bill  I  wanted  to  learn  Cree.  "I  would 
like  to,"  I  says.  I  saw  he  was  smiling,  so  I  says, 
"What's  the  joke?  I  don't  see  none." 

"Nor  me,"  he  says,  serious,  like,  "nor  me." 

Then  he  says,  "I  never  did  see  Bill  right  riled 
but  once."  I  thought  he'd  changed  the  subject;  but 
he  went  on:  "That  was  the  day  I  met  up  with  him 
first.  I  was  camped  down  on  the  Cheyenne,  when 
one  mornin'1  a  man  rode  up  to  my  fire  an'  got  down. 
His  hoss  was  blowin'  a-plenty,  an'  I  sez  to  him, 
'Must  be  lookin'  fer  somebody  er  leavin'  the  coun- 
try, stranger/ 

"  'I  be,'  he  sez,  madder'n  a  gut-shot  bear.  'A  lit- 
tle black  Frenchman's  run  off  with  my  woman,'  he 
sez.  'I  been  tryin'  to  overhaul  'em,  but  they've  lit 
out  fer  her  people,  an*  I  "can't  lick  the  whole  tribe; 
an'  besides  she  ain't  worth  it,  noway.'  He  squatted 
by  my  fire  warmin'  his  fingers.  'I  wouldn't  minded 
him  takin'  the  woman/  he  growled,  after  a  bit,  'but 
the  skunk's  a  low-down  thief.  He  went  an'  packed 
off  my  cookin'  outfit  with  her.  I'm  plumb  afoot 
fer  a  f ryin'  pan,  by  the  Lord !' 

"Then  he  saw  how  funny  it  sounded  an'  we 
laughed,  me  an*  him.  That  was  nigh  ten  years  ago. 
She  was  a  Cree  woman." 

He  turned  a  pack-saddle  over  and  looked  at  the 
cinches.  "Hev  ye  seen  that  roan  war-hoss  of 
Alex's?"  he  says.  "He's  a  wonderful  fine  animal." 

"No,"  I  says,  "I  haven't,  but  I  will,  likely." 

His  story  was  told  for  my  benefit,  I  knowed.     He 


140        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

wanted  to  keep  me  away  from  the  girl.  I  didn't 
know  why  then;  but  afterwards  when  we  was  in 
bad  trouble  I  understood,  and  saw  he  was  only  be- 
ing fair.  I  he'ped  him  sew  a  ripped  breeching 
without  neither  of  us  saying  a  word,  and  by  and  by 
Bill  brought  McLeod  in. 

Nobody  could  he'p  liking  Mac.  He  was  small  and 
wiry  and  quick  as  a  steel  trap.  I  liked  the  way  he 
shook  hands  with  Dad,  looking  up  into  his  eyes  like 
he  wanted  him  to  believe  he  was  to  be  counted  on. 
His  skin  was  nigh  as  dark  as  any  full-blood's,  and 
he  wore  rings  in  his  ears  and  his  hair  braided  like 
an  Injin's  and  only  a  breech-clout  and  leggings  for 
clothes.  His  eyes  was  black  and  sharp  and  he  had 
a  mouth  like  Dad's — straight-cut,  with  thin  lips. 
He  was  kind  as  a  woman,  and  had  mighty  little  to 
say,  himse'f,  though  he  always  looked  you  right  in 
the  eyes  if  you  talked  to  him.  His  English  was 
funny.  At  first  I  wanted  to  laugh  whenever  he 
talked,  but  I  got  used  to  it,  and  in  no  time  I  could 
talk  like  him,  and  did  sometimes.  I  was  right 
friendly  with  him  from  the  start  because  I  figured 
on  learning  Cree  from  him.  But  my  liking  was 
genuine  and  grew  stronger  every  day. 

I  thought  I'd  learn  the  girl's  name  the  very  first 
thing;  so  when  he  and  I  was  shaping  up  the  packs 
the  next  morning,  getting  all  ready  to  start  on  the 
following  day,  I  says,  "Do  you  know  Red  Robe, 
Mac?" 

"She's  my  honkle,  Red  Robe,"  he  says,  without 
looking  up  from  his  work. 

That  give  me  a  queer  thrill.  Mac  was  related 
to  her.  "How  does  that  come?"  I  says. 

"My  modder's  sister's  his  'oomans." 

I  couldn't  figure  that  out  for  a  minute;  but  di- 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        141 

rectly  it  was  plain.  Mac's  mother  was  Mrs.  Red 
Robe's  sister.  Mac  was  a  cousin  of  the  girl. 
"What's  her  name,  Mac?"  I  says. 

"Go's  dat  you'll  mean?" 

"Why,  Red  Robe's  girl,"  I  says,  remembering  he 
didn't  know  anything  about  me  seeing  her. 

"She's  got  two,  free,  four,  mebby  five  gal,  Red 
Robe,"  he  says,  stopping  to  fill  his  pipe.  "Wan, 
hees  nam'  Yellow  Flower;  nodder,  hees  nam'  Sits- 
an'-Seengs;  nodder  wan,  hees  nam'  Bluebird;  nod- 
der wan,  hees  nam' " 

He  was  stuck.  His  forehead  puckered  and  he 
squatted  by  the  fire  for  a  coal  to  light  his  pipe  with. 
"HI  don'  know  hees  nam — dat  bird  is  walk  hon  de 
long  lag,"  he  says. 

"Oh,"  I  says,  "snipe." 

"No,  no — beeg  wan !  Hell  of  a  long  lag,  dat  wan ! 
He's  walk  hon  de  plain  an'  fly.  Mak'  de  cry,  too." 

"Crane — sand-hill  crane,"  I  says. 

"Yas,  by  gar!  Dat's  de  wan.  Sand-hill  crane. 
Wah-chee-cha,  hees  nam',  Cree.  He's  mean  hon  de 
Englis',  Speerit  de  Mountain — mebby  Mountain 
Ghos' — som-e-ting  lak  dat.  HI  don'  spick  de  Eng- 
lis' lak  de  Cree  or  de  French,  me." 

I  saw  my  chance.  "I  wish  you'd  learn  me  to  talk 
Cree,"  I  says.  "Will  you?" 

"You  bat !  Me,  HI'll  be  glad  por  talk  de  Cree,  me 
an'  you,"  he  says,  going  back  to  the  packs. 

After  that  he  spoke  to  me  in  Cree  and  then  said 
the  same  thing  in  English.  It  seemed  like  I  could 
learn  Cree  and  remember  it  easy.  I  stuck  to  him 
close  and  talked  to  him  about  Red  Robe  and  his 
daughters. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

We  was  off  before  the  sun  was  up — eight  of  us 
now,  with  a  long  string  of  pack-animals.  When  I 
looked  ahead  the  pack-train  looked  nigh  a  quarter 
of  a  mile  long.  It  was  a  sight  I  can't  never  forget 
— several  hosses  and  mules,  then  a  man,  then  more 
hosses  and  mules,  then  another  man,  till  at  last 
come  Mac  and  me.  Dad  was  ahead  with  Bill  and 
Alex;  but  I  was  learning  Cree  and  making  a  hand 
with  Mac. 

The  day  was  hot — so  hot  we  all  felt  glad  when 
night  come.  We'd  cut  straight  across  to  strike  the 
Missouri  at  the  mouth  of  the  Musselshell,  and  the 
country  was  without  a  tree — just  rolling  plains,  and 
hotter'n  all  get  out.  The  first  night  we  made  a  dry 
camp — no  water  at  all,  but  we  got  along  without  it 
and  pulled  out  mighty  early  in  the  morning.  About 
noon  we  come  to  water  and  let  the  stock  drink,  but 
didn't  unpack.  That  night  we  camped  on  good 
water,  and  after  that  we  wa'n't  obliged  to  make  any 
dry  camps. 

I  reckon  'twas  late  in  the  afternoon  of  the  ninth 
day  when  we  struck  the  Missouri  at  the  mouth  of 
the  Musselshell.  It  had  been  a  hot,  dry  trip — days 
without  seeing  a  tree.  The  rivers  looked  mighty 
good,  I  can  tell  you,  and  we  camped  there  and 
rested  and  let  the  stock  fill  up  good.  We  was 
mighty  careful,  though,  for  we  was  well  into  the 
Blackf eet  country  and  they  wa'n't  friendly  to  Amer- 
icans but  traded  with  the  British.  Dad  told  me 
that  the  Hudson's  Bay  company  was  behind  it,  too. 
But  we  didn't  intend  to  trade  any  until  spring,  and 

142 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        143 

then,  as  soon  as  we  got  rid  of  what  goods  we  had, 
light  out  quick.  Most  every  night  the  men  talked 
of  the  ornery  ways  of  the  Hudson's  Bay  traders, 
Mac  setting  beside  me  listening  but  never  taking 
part  in  the  conversation  unless  he  was  asked  a  ques- 
tion. 

We  stayed  in  the  camp  a  week.  It  was  Septem- 
ber and  there  was  signs  of  the  summer's  end  when 
we  started  off  up  the  Missouri,  following  the  course 
of  the  great  stream  as  close  as  we  could.  Bad- 
lands, queer  country  and  rough,  kept  us  far  away 
sometimes.  Then  again  we  was  close  and  camped 
in  still  cottonwood  groves  by  the  river  itse'f.  We 
built  small  fires  and  mighty  few  of  them,  using  only 
dry  willow  or  alder  wood  for  fuel.  Every  day  we 
saw  big  herds  of  buffalo,  but  no  Injins,  although  we 
was  always  on  the  lookout  for  them  night  and  day. 
One  day  I  saw  a  grizzly  bear — the  silver-tip  that 
Captain  Lewis  called  the  white  bear.  And  he  did 
look  nigh  white  in  the  sunshine.  Cracky !  he  was  a 
big  fellow,  and  didn't  want  to  give  the  trail  either. 
After  that  we  saw  more  and  more  of  them  as  we 
traveled  towards  the  Rockies.  We  camped  early 
one  day  because  we  saw  buffalo  running,  but  al- 
though we  scouted  around  and  Dad  found  fresh 
sign  of  them  we  saw  no  Injins. 

It  was  on  the  seventh  day  after  leaving  the  Mus- 
selshell  that  we  come  to  the  mouth  of  the  Marias. 
It's  waters,  swifter  than  the  Missouri,  made  a  fuss 
in  the  big  river  when  it  entered,  but  in  less  than  a 
hundred  yards  was  swallowed  up  and  belonged  to  it. 

We  made  camp  and  put  out  a  guard  before  sun- 
down. It  was  a  beautiful  spot,  and  the  night  come 
on  cool  and  clear  as  a  bell.  There  wa'n't  a  sound 
in  the  air  except  the  rippling  of  the  Marias  waters 


144        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

cutting  into  the  Missouri  in  a  clear  streak.  And 
when  the  moon  come  up  and  its  light  fell  on  the 
ripples  it  looked  like  a  million  silver  fish  was  jump- 
ing and  playing  in  the  middle  of  the  stream.  It 
was  mighty  hard  to  believe  there  was  trouble  in 
such  a  place ;  but  the  low  voices  of  the  men  and  lit- 
tle fire,  even  to  cook,  kept  me  reminded  of  it  till  I 
got  fidgety  and  restless  as  all  get  out. 

We  was  up  before  daylight  and  Dad  and  Bill  and 
Alex  and  Jake  set  out  to  explore  the  country  and 
look  for  a  site  for  our  winter  camp.  Mac  and  I 
was  with  the  stock,  and  Tom  and  Sandy  stayed  in 
camp.  I  could  talk  a  good  bit  of  Cree  with  Mac 
now,  and  every  day  I  learned  more,  besides  the  sign 
talk.  It  was  easy  for  me,  and  I  liked  it.  Mac 
wa'n't  never  tired  nor  ornery,  but  took  pains  with 
me  and  was  tickled  when  I  learned  and  remembered 
my  lessons. 

It  was  after  noon  when  the  men  got  in.  They 
had  decided  to  cross  the  river  and  make  the  camp 
on  the  Marias  near  its  mouth.  So  before  sundown 
we  was  across  and  had  piled  the  packs  for  a  stand- 
off in  case  of  attack.  It  was  a  better  place  for  the 
camp  than  on  the  other  side.  I  could  see  that. 
And  that  night  they  decided  to  build  a  stockade. 

"I  reckon  ye've  been  here  before,  Mac?"  says 
Dad. 

"Oui,  Hl'm  been  'ere  planty  tarn,  me.  De  Cree 
she's  lak  por  stop  'ere.  Som-e-tam  Blackfeet,  she's 
mak  de  fight  jist  'ere.  Planty  buffalo,  planty  bee- 
vair.  Good  place,  dis  wan,  por  mak'  de  beeg,  strong 
camp." 

"We'll  shore  try  to  make  it  strong,"  says  Dad. 
"An'  I  only  hope  we  kin  git  it  done  before  they 
jump  us.  In  the  mornin'  Lige  an'  Mac  kin  guard 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        145 

the  stock  an'  mebby  find  time  to  cut  some  grass. 
The  rest  better  jump  right  in  an'  go  to  cuttin'  logs." 

"That's  the  idee,"  agrees  Alex,  cheery  like  he  al- 
ways was.  And  they  laid  out  the  stockade,  fifty  by 
sixty-five  feet,  besides  a  strong  pole  corral  to  join 
onto  it.  It  looked  like  a  mighty  big  job;  but  there 
was  eight  of  us ;  and  in  the  morning  we  begun. 

At  first  the  sound  of  the  axes  bothered  me  a  heap. 
I  was  sure  it  could  be  heered  a  mighty  long  way; 
but  the  logs  had  to  be  cut,  and  a  lot  of  them.  They 
was  ten  feet  long  and  set  in  the  ground  over  two 
feet  on  end  like  the  stockade  at  the  mouth  of  the 
Yellowstone,  only  smaller,  of  course.  There  wa'n't 
no  runway,  but  plenty  of  loop-holes,  and  the  logs 
was  tied  by  a  girder  pegged  half  way  up  and  braced 
every  little  bit,  from  it  to  the  ground  on  the  inside 
so  the  logs  couldn't  be  pushed  over.  Every  day  for 
more  than  two  weeks  Mac  and  I  guarded  the  stock 
and  cut  grass  while  the  other  men  worked  on  the 
stockade.  We  hadn't  seen  an  Injin;  but  we  wa'n't 
careless,  and  kept  expecting  them.  Each  night 
Mac  and  I  would  tie  up  our  grass  and  pack  it  in; 
and  each  night  the  stockade  was  farther  along,  till 
at  last  it  was  done,  gate  and  all.  It  had  been  hard 
work,  especially  when  the  men  had  to  stand  night- 
guard  after  working  all  day.  I  felt  relieved  when 
we  was  all  safe  inside  and  could  build  a  decent  fire; 
for  the  nights  was  getting  right  sharp. 

Dad  had  pitched  his  lodge  and  we  had  made  it 
snug  for  a  long  stay.  Everybody's  bed  was  in  it, 
and  all  the  goods  was  piled  in  two  tents  belonging 
to  Alex  and  Jake,  so  there  was  sleeping  room  to 
spare  in  the  lodge. 

"Now,"  says  Dad,  filling  his  pipe  the  first  night 
inside  the  stockade.  "I  feel  we're  fixed,  an'  before 


146        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

the  storms  set  in."  He  looked  so  satisfied  and 
cheerful,  setting  there,  that  I  thought  the  job  of 
making  the  stockade  was  worth  while.  "There's 
fur  a-plenty,  here,"  he  says,  "but  I  reckon  we'd  best 
make  a  little  killin'  o'  meat  right  away  now,  so  we 
kin  dry  it  agin  the  time  when  it's  scarce  or  poor  or 
the  Blackfeet  jumps  us — an*  they  shore  will." 

"We'll  hev  to  make  some  travois,  too.  We'll  need 
'em,"  says  Alex.  "They'll  be  a  sharp  frost  tonight," 
he  goes  on.  "We  kin  go  to  trappin'  mighty  soon 
now.  But  speakin'  of  dryin'  meat;  I  never  see  a 
rack  of  it  but  what  I  think  of  Tom  Meek's  squaw. 
Remember  her,  Dad?" 

"Reckon  I  do,"  laughs  Dad,  putting  a  stick  on 
the  fire.  "Reckon  I  do.  She  was  nigh  as  wide  as 
she  was  long,  an'  full  twice  as  heavy  as  she  looked." 

"She's  dead,"  says  Alex,  interrupting. 

"Yes,  there  ain't  no  doubt  of  it.  Leastways  not 
in  my  mind,  nor  Bill's,"  says  Dad,  refilling  his  pipe, 
slow.  "She  died  a  year  ago  last  winter.  Me  an' 
Bill  was  camped  nigh  Tom ;  an'  the  woman  took  sick 
along  in  January.  It  had  been  right  warm.  No 
storms  to  speak  of.  She  was  took  sudden  an'  bad 
an'  kept  gittin'  worse  an'  worse,  till  one  night  Tom 
rode  over  to  our  fire.  He  asked  us  if  we'd  kinder 
ride  herd  on  the  woman  whilst  he  made  a  trip  to 
the  Post  fer  some  medicine;  an'  of  course  we  said 
we  would  do  all  we  could  fer  her,  an'  we  did.  It 
was  better'n  a  hundred  miles  to  the  Post;  an'  the 
next  mornin'  after  Tom  set  out,  a  blizzard  set  in— 
a  bad  one — the  worst  I'd  seen  in  a  long  time. 

"Me  an'  Bill  went  over  to  Tom's  camp  an'  built  a 
fire  an'  cut  some  wood  an'  cooked.  We  hustled 
around  an'  made  the  woman  some  tea ;  but  while  we 
was  there  she  died.  We  camped  right  there  the 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        147 

next  day  an*  the  next.  Then  the  weather  moder- 
ated. It  got  warm  agin — too  warm.  Tom  hedn't 
come  in,  an*  me  an*  Bill  reckoned  he'd  got  lost  or 
froze  in  the  blizzard,  mebby.  But  we  stayed  there 
in  his  camp,  like  we  felt  we  ought  to,  till  two  more 
days  went  an*  still  there  wa'n't  no  Tom.  Then  me 
an*  Bill  held  a  council.  Something  hed  to  be  done 
with  the  woman.  So  we  packed  her  out  of  the 
cabin  an'  laid  her  down  on  the  plains  so  she'd 
freeze.  Night  come  again,  but  Tom  didn't;  so  we 
packed  the  woman  back  into  the  cabin  to  keep  the 
wolves  from  gittin'  her  in  the  night.  That  went 
on  for  three  more  days  an'  nights — packin'  her  out 
at  daylight  to  freeze  her,  an'  packin'  her  in  agin  at 
night  to  fool  the  wolves.  Yes  sir,  that  woman  is 
dead.  I  kin  prove  it  by  Bill." 

He  wa'n't  laughing;  but  there  was  something 
mighty  funny  in  the  way  he  told  it,  though  he  was 
serious  enough. 

"Sioux  woman,  wa'n't  she?"  Alex  says,  knocking 
the  ashes  out  of  his  pipe. 

"Nope,"  says  Dad,  "she  was  a  Cree." 

I  looked  at  him  quick,  but  he  didn't  see  me,  and  I 
couldn't  make  out  whether  he  was  meaning  any- 
thing or  not.  "Why  didn't  Tom  come  back?"  I 
says. 

"Got  lost  in  the  blizzard,"  he  says.  "Badly  froze, 
too ;  but  we  hed  a  funeral  before  we  'tended  to  him, 
poor  devil." 

"Well,  anyhow,"  says  Alex,  "every  time  I  see  a 
rack  of  drying  meat,  I  always  think  of  that  woman. 
She  was  the  busiest  meat-dryer  I  ever  see.  What 
become  of  Tom,  Dad?" 

"The  Rees  killed  him  last  fall — him  an'  a  man 
name  o'  Adams.  Better  turn  in,  son,"  he  says  to 


148        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

me.     "It's  your  turn  to  go  on  guard  at  midnight. 
You  an*  Mac  relieve  Bill  an'  Jake,  ye  know." 

It  didn't  seem  to  me  I'd  been  asleep  five  minutes 
when  Bill  shook  me.  I  got  up  quiet  as  I  could  and 
went  out  of  the  lodge  with  Mac.  The  air  was  frosty 
and  the  sky  full  of  stars.  As  we  come  up  to  the 
stock,  Mac  says,  "Jake,  pretty  soon  now,  beeg  storm 


is  come." 


"How  soon,  Mac?"  says  Jake,  stopping  a  minute 
to  talk,  with  his  shoulders  humped  over  in  the  chill 
air. 

"Mebby  she's  start  tomorrow.  Dam  beeg  wan, 
dat  storm  is  comin'  now." 

"What  makes  you  think  that,  Mac?"  I  asked. 

"I  don'  know,  me,"  he  said,  looking  at  the  starry 
sky. 

Then  Jake  left  us  an'  we  was  still.  We  rode 
around  the  stock  once  before  picking  stands,  and 
after  that  each  man  was  a  guard  by  himse'f.  I 
could  see  far  out  over  the  plains  in  the  clear  night 
and  across  the  Missouri,  from  where  I  stopped. 
Such  nights  fetched  me  what  I  wanted  of  the  plains. 
And  always  my  love  for  them  got  stronger.  I 
couldn't  never  see  how  any  man  could  be  small  or 
ornery  and  live  on  the  plains.  It  seemed  to  me 
that  men  ought  to  measure  up  to  their  country, 
someway,  and  be  big  like  it  was. 

Towards  morning  the  sky  begun  to  cloud  up  and 
the  wind  hauled  around  to  the  north.  A  change  of 
weather  was  coming.  But  how  could  Mac  have 
knowed  it  with  the  sky  so  full  of  stars? 

It  wa'n't  growing  much  colder,  but  the  wind  was 
raw,  and  I  was  glad  when  daylight  come.  Alex  and 
Sandy  relieved  Mac  and  me,  and  we  went  into  the 
stockade  where  Dad  and  the  rest  was  making  tra- 
vois. 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        149 

By  ten  o'clock  it  begun  to  rain,  and  early  in  the 
afternoon  sleet  come,  driven  by  a  gale  from  the 
north.  It  kept  getting  worse  and  before  dark  was 
snowing  hard — so  hard  you  couldn't  see  ten  feet 
ahead  of  you.  The  stock  drifted  into  the  cotton- 
woods  and  the  guard  was  glad  to  follow.  The  cold 
strengthened  all  night,  and  when  morning  come  on, 
the  plains  was  white  and  drifted  bad.  The  wind 
was  still  howling  and  driving  sheets  of  snow  with 
a  force  that  was  hard  to  face.  Nothing  could  stand 
against  it.  Cottonwood  limbs,  suddenly  froze, 
snapped  off,  and  even  fair-sized  trees  was  broke 
down.  It  looked  as  though  winter  had  come  to  stay. 

That  night  was  a  hard  one  on  the  guard,  and  I 
felt  lucky  because  it  wa'n't  my  turn.  Dad  built  up 
the  fire  in  the  lodge,  and  we  was  mighty  snug  and 
comfortable,  though  it  was  bitter  cold  on  the  plains. 
"Hear  that  wind,"  says  Dad,  tighting  the  guy-rope 
by  his  side.  "It's  the  equinoctial  storm  and  a  good 
one ;  but  when  it's  spent  itse'f  we'll  hev  fine  weather 
fer  a  long  spell,  I  cal'late.  Jest  as  soon  as  it  lets 
up  we  must  kill  some  meat.  The  buffalo  might 
drift  an'  leave  the  country.  Shoo !  hear  that  wind," 
he  says  again,  as  a  gust  nigh  tipped  over  the  lodge. 

Mac  said,  "It  is  a  strong  wind,"  in  Cree.  And  I 
said,  "Yes ;  you  said  it  would  come." 

Dad  perked  up  and  says,  "How's  the  Cree  lan- 
guage comin'  along,  son?"  with  his  gray  eyes  twink- 
ling, but  kind,  like. 

"She's  do  good,"  says  Mac.  "She's  spick  de  word 
jist  de  sam'  lak  de  Hinjin." 

We  sat  up  till  after  the  guard  was  changed.  (The 
men  was  nigh  froze  when  they  come  in.)  Then 
we  went  to  bed ;  and  the  wind  howled  till  nigh  day- 
light. 


150        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

But  in  the  morning  all  was  different.  The  storm 
had  passed,  though  the  snow  was  drifted  in  the 
coulees  and  along  the  Marias.  By  noon  the  sky  was 
clear  and  blue  as  it  ever  is  on  a  summer's  day,  and 
the  sun  shining  so  bright  it  was  hard  on  my  eyes. 
The  snow  begun  to  melt  away.  Gullies  fed  by  the 
coulees  filled  up  with  muddy  water  that  rushed  to 
the  Marias  or  the  Missouri,  so  that  by  sundown  the 
plains  was  white  only  in  spots  where  the  heavier 
drifts  had  been  piled  by  the  wind.  The  sky  had 
never  seemed  so  clean  and  clear  and  blue,  and  when 
night  fell  the  stars  come  out  as  though  there  hadn't 
been  a  storm.  Mac  and  I  stood  guard  from  mid- 
night till  morning.  And  there  never  was  another 
such  a  morning. 

Mebby  it  was  comparison  that  made  it  seem  so 
beautiful.  Anyway,  under  the  warm  sky  the  little 
spots  of  snow  in  the  coulees  looked  plumb  out  of 
place.  On  most  of  the  trees  the  leaves  was  yet 
green;  but  some,  on  the  small  quaking  aspens,  was 
yellow,  and,  setting  their  color  against  the  blue  of 
the  sky,  made  a  mighty  pretty  picture.  The  yellow 
seemed  brighter  and  the  blue  bluer,  one  color  work- 
ing to  set  off  the  other,  like.  Out  in  the  breaks 
and  bad  lands  of  the  Missouri  where  the  heat  of  the 
summer  had  dried  and  withered  every  bit  of  color 
to  match  the  plains  theirse'f s,  the  storm  had  fetched 
back  the  reds  and  greens  and  yellows  of  the  cliffs 
and  clay  banks,  till  they  looked  pretty  again,  and 
unreal,  like.  There  wa'n't  a  breath  of  breeze  stir- 
ring; not  a  cloud  in  the  sky.  It  was  all  so  still 
you'd  think  the  elements  was  plumb  ashamed  of  the 
way  they'd  cut  up  the  day  before  and  was  doing 
their  best  to  make  you  forget  it.  An  old  crow,  a 
moving  black  speck  against  the  blue  sky,  called 
Caw !  Caw !  from  over  the  river.  And  when  we  got 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        151 

into  the  stockade  Dad  was  humming  a  tune  and 
peeling  willows  for  a  meat-rack,  happy  as  all  get 
out. 

"Now  for  the  meat,"  he  says,  after  Mac  and  I 
had  he'ped  him  f  er  a  spell.  "By  the  time  we  git  it 
to  dryin'  it'll  be  high  time  to  set  some  traps,  I 
cal'late,"  he  says. 

And  that  was  just  the  way  it  come  out.  We  rode 
out  of  the  stockade  when  it  was  just  coming  day, 
Dad  and  Mac  and  Bill  and  I,  and  by  eight  o'clock 
had  seen  a  small  herd  of  buffalo  grazing  not  far 
from  the  breaks.  We  rode  around  to  get  wind  of 
them  and  Mac  wanted  to  run  them,  but  Dad  ob- 
jected. Mac  had  his  bow  and  arrows  as  well  as 
his  rifle,  hoping,  I  reckon,  that  we'd  run  them. 
We  made  a  wide  circle  and  got  well  to  the  leeward 
of  the  herd.  Then  by  leading  our  horses  and  crawl- 
ing up  a  coulee,  we  got  within  easy  range. 

"Now,  son,"  says  Dad,  "wait  till  I  tell  ye  to  cut 
loose." 

We  settled  ourse'f  s,  and  pretty  soon  a  cow  walked 
out  from  the  herd  a  piece  and  Dad  let  go.  She  fell 
to  her  knees,  but  got  up  and  walked  back  into  the 
herd  and  kneeled  down.  Directly,  out  come  an- 
other cow,  and  Mac  shot  her,  just  as  Dad  had, 
through  the  lights,  and  she  poked  back  into  the 
herd  and  knelt  like  the  other.  Dad  and  Bill  and 
Mac  kept  waiting  till  a  cow  walked  out,  when  one 
of  them  would  shoot  her  through  the  lights.  And 
by  cracky !  directly  half  the  herd  was  kneeling  down 
around  the  wounded  buffalo. 

"Now,  son,"  says  Dad,  "get  in  an'  pick  cows. 
Here  we  go!" 

We  commenced  to  shoot;  and  after  a  while  the 
herd  stampeded,  but  not  till  we'd  killed  twelve  fat 


152        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

cows.  I  had  killed  three,  myse'f ,  and  saw  that  the 
trick  was  a  good  one.  If  we'd  commenced  to  kill 
right  off,  we  wouldn't  have  got  more  than  two  or 
three ;  but  by  shooting  those  cows  the  way  they  did, 
the  herd  got  the  idee  that  they  wanted  to  bed  down, 
and  so  we  got  what  we  wanted. 

"We'll  hev  back-fat  that'll  make  an  Injin  home- 
sick," laughed  Dad.  "That's  nice  clean  work,  an' 
not  a  bull  among  'em,"  he  says.  "Bill,  if  you'll  go 
in  f  er  the  travois  the  rest  of  us  will  butcher  while 
ye're  gone;  an*  ye'd  better  fetch  an  extra  pack-hoes 
or  two.  We'll  need  'em." 

We  worked  hard,  I  tell  you,  and  it  was  after  mid- 
night when  we  got  the  meat  to  the  stockade. 

And  then  we  feasted.  Fat  buffalo  steaks,  roasted 
before  the  fire  on  peeled  willow  sticks.  We  spread 
them  with  skewers  and  hung  them  on  roasting- 
sticks  before  the  coals.  Cracky !  how  fine  they  was. 
They'd  drip  and  sizzle  and  cook,  finest  in  the  world. 
I  ate  till  I  couldn't  hold  no  more,  and  so  did  the 
others — choicest  cuts  and  plenty  of  them.  When 
the  guard  was  relieved,  instead  of  turning  in,  they 
took  up  the  feast  where  we'd  left  off.  It  was  day- 
light before  the  camp  was  quiet. 

The  stockade  was  a  busy  place  in  the  morning. 
We  cut  the  meat  into  thin  strips,  strung  it  on  the 
peeled  willows,  and  hung  them  on  the  racks  to  dry. 
We  even  had  to  make  some  more  racks  and  they 
stretched  the  whole  length  of  the  stockade.  The 
sun  begun  to  do  its  work  right  away.  There  wa'n't 
a  fly  to  bother,  and  by  night  I  could  see  a  big  dif- 
ference in  the  color  of  the  meat. 

"Looks  like  an  Injin  village  hed  moved  in,"  says 
Dad,  washing  his  hands.  "Them  was  fat  ones,"  he 
smiled.  "We'll  trot  out  the  traps  now,  son.  An' 
tomorrow  me  an*  you  will  set  some  of  'em." 


CHAPTER  XVII 

There  was  a  white  frost  on  the  grass  the  next 
morning  and  no  green  left  on  the  big  cottonwoods, 
Their  leaves  had  turned  since  the  storm.  Every 
breeze  that  shook  them  loosed  a  yellow  shower  that 
left  the  branches  like  a  passel  of  birds  to  flutter 
about,  crazy  like,  and  then  fall — sometimes  on  the 
river,  where  the  wind  and  the  current  sent  them 
hither  and  yon.  They  huddled  and  piled  in  the 
willows  like  they  wanted  to  stay  together,  but  the 
keen  wind  hunted  them  out  mighty  nigh  as  soon  as 
they'd  got  settled.  Some  of  the  trees  was  'most 
naked,  and  the  breezes  was  stripping  the  rest  as 
they  passed,  till  the  groves  looked  ragged  and  cold. 

All  night  and  all  day  the  wild  geese  and  brant, 
swan  and  ducks  kept  flying  over  us,  making  a  racket 
that  you  would  have  to  hear  to  believe;  and  while 
we  was  eating  supper  the  night  before,  a  weasel, 
white  as  snow,  had  run  across  the  stockade.  "Yon- 
der he  goes,"  says  Dad.  "He's  white,  and  the  fur's 
prime." 

The  traps  had  been  marked  with  a  file — one  notch 
for  Dad's,  two  for  Bill's  and  three  for  mine.  Alex 
and  Jake  was  to  trap  below  the  stockade  on  the 
Missouri  and  we  was  to  take  the  river  above  it. 

When  we  started  out,  Bill  went  on  ahead  of  Dad 
and  me,  and  I  watched  Dad  set  his  ten  traps.  He 
talked  all  the  time,  showing  me  how  and  telling  me 
about  beaver  and  their  ways.  "'Tain't  a  good  plan 
to  mix  territory  in  trappin',"  he  says,  while  he  set 
his  tenth  trap,  "but  whatever's  in  yer  traps  belongs 

153 


154        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

to  you  accordin'  to  our  agreement;  an'  to  raise  a 
trap  that  ain't  yer  own  is  the  lowest  down  job 
known  to  free  trappers."  That  just  slipped  out,  but 
I  knowed  he  wanted  me  to  remember  it,  though  he 
kept  on  talking  without  even  looking  up  from  his 
work. 

"Now,"  he  says,  wiping  his  hands  on  his  shirt, 
"beginnin'  here  ye  pick  yer  own  sets,  an*  if  they 
ain't  good  ones,  I'll  tell  ye,  son." 

I'd  watched  him  close,  and  I  believed  I  could  do 
it.  I  didn't  walk  ten  feet  before  I  stopped  and 
waded  into  the  water  to  set  a  trap.  Dad  didn't 
say  a  word  while  I  made  me  a  slide  and  a  bait- 
stick.  He  watched  me  every  mintue  but  didn't  find 
no  fault,  and  I  set  my  trap.  After  that  I  set  an- 
other and  another,  Dad  on  the  bank  far  enough 
away  so  he  would  leave  no  sign,  and  me  in  the 
water.  Only  once,  when  I  stopped  to  set  a  trap  did 
he  object,  and  I  moved  to  another  place. 

When  my  traps  was  all  set  we  went  back  to  the 
stockade.  "We'll  hev  a  heap  of  work  for  ye,  Mac," 
said  Dad,  as  we  entered  the  lodge.  "There's  beaver 
here  a-plenty  an'  we'll  make  a  good  ketch." 

I  couldn't  hardly  wait  for  morning.  The  beaver 
sign  was  everywhere  along  the  river — quaking  as- 
pens and  cottonwoods  cut  down  in  big  patches  there. 
You  would  think,  to  see  them,  that  somebody  was 
slashing  for  a  clearing  in  the  bottoms  along  the 
stream.  And  all  the  afternoon  and  evening  I 
guessed  at  the  number  I  would  catch  in  my  ten 
traps.  Alex  and  Jake  said  the  sign  was  plenty 
down  the  river,  too,  and  everybody  was  happy  over 
our  good  luck.  I  can't  never  forget  that  night.  It 
was  as  though  I  had  made  my  first  bet  in  some  big 
game  of  chance.  I  felt  that  I  was  at  last  doing  my 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        155 

part;  that  if  only  my  traps  took  a  decent  number 
of  beaver,  I  would  be  satisfied  with  life. 

I  was  first  to  get  up  and  build  a  fire.  It  wa'n't 
quite  day;  but  I  had  been  awake  for  more  than  an 
hour  before  I'd  turned  out. 

As  soon  as  we  had  breakfast  Dad  and  I  set  out 
to  visit  our  traps.  We  found  he'd  caught  nine 
beaver.  He  was  bothered  because  one  of  his  traps 
was  sprung  and  empty.  I  waited  for  him  to  take 
out  his  beaver  and  reset  his  traps,  though  it  was 
hard  to  do.  I  wanted  to  get  to  my  own.  But  at 
last  I  did.  I  had  six  big  beaver,  mighty  fine  ones, 
out  of  ten  traps.  Dad  said  I'd  done  good,  and  I 
felt  mighty  proud  when  we  begun  to  skin  them  out. 

Skinning  out  a  beaver  is  quick  work,  but  fleshing 
a  beaver  hide  ain't  quick  nor  easy.  That's  why 
fleshing  is  done  in  camp.  We  all  turned  in  and 
he'ped  the  fleshers  and  by  dark  we  had  the  hides 
sewed  into  willow  hoops  to  dry.  There  was  forty 
of  them  in  all.  Bill  had  caught  ten  and  joked  Dad 
plenty  because  he'd  lost  one. 

As  fast  as  the  hides  was  dry  enough  the  fleshers 
took  them  out  of  the  hoops,  folding  them  fur  against 
fur  to  make  room  for  more.  They  made  bales  of 
the  dry  skins  and  hung  them  up  in  the  tents  away 
from  the  damp  ground.  In  ten  days  we  had  two 
hundred  and  thirty  beavers,  just  our  own  outfit. 
And  Jake  and  Alex  had  taken  nearly  two  hundred 
between  them.  I  begun  to  figure  my  earnings  and 
was  plumb  astonished  at  the  figures. 

The  weather  kept  fine,  though  the  nights  was 
mighty  sharp  and  clear.  When  we'd  cleaned  out 
the  beaver  within  easy  travel  from  the  stockade,  we 
made  a  little  camp,  Dad  and  Bill  and  I,  up  above  the 
Marias  about  ten  miles,  I  reckon.  We  hadn't  much 


156        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

property  in  the  camp  so  in  case  we  was  jumped 
there  wouldn't  be  anything  to  leave  behind.  Mac 
come  there  everyday  to  take  the  beaver  skins  to 
the  stockade,  so  I  kept  practising  Cree  almost  as 
good  as  though  we  was  together  all  the  time. 

Jake  and  Alex  had  moved  down  the  Missouri, 
leaving  their  camp-tenders  at  the  stockade  with 
Mac;  and  among  them  they  managed  to  guard  the 
stock  and  take  care  of  the  fur.  But  it  kept  them 
busy;  and  if  it  was  going  to  be  a  steady  grind,  they 
couldn't  have  stood  it. 

Near  the  middle  of  December  we  was  all  in  the 
stockade — just  happened  to  go  in  at  the  same  time 
for  supplies.  The  river  hadn't  yet  froze  over.  In 
the  bends  where  there  was  eddies  the  ice  would  nigh 
hold  up  a  man,  but  where  the  stream  was  swift 
there  wa'n't  no  ice  at  all.  Nobody  had  seen  an  In- 
jin,  and  the  buffalo  grazed  within  sight  of  the  stock- 
ade most  every  day.  We  was  having  a  feast  and  a 
big  talk,  and  it  seemed  good  to  all  of  us  to  be  to- 
gether again. 

Dad  was  mending  a  pair  of  moccasinsj  by  the 
lodge-fire.  "Whenever  I  putter  with  a  pair  of 
these,"  he  said,  cutting  a  piece  of  elkskin  with  his 
knife,  "I  always  think  of  pore  oP  Harvey  Tucker. 
One  night  'way  down  on  the  Platte  he  was  mendin' 
his.  Twas  mighty  cold,  an'  he  hed  a  big  buffalo- 
chip  fire  burnin'.  A  Pawnee  buck  crawled  up  close 
to  the  camp  an'  shot  through  the  lodge-skin  at  Har- 
vey's shadder.  The  arrow  went  clean  through  him, 
an'  we  found  him  settin'  up  straight  with  his  awl 
in  one  hand  an'  a  moccasin  in  the  other.  He  was 
froze  stiff  that-a-way.  "Hello,  Mac !  What's  goin' 
on?" 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        157 

The  lodge  door  had  been  jerked  up  and  the  half- 
breed's  head  stuck  inside. 

"Jest  my  seeum  smoke,  me." 

"Shoo!    Signal-smoke?" 

"Nope.  She's  jest  de  smoke  de  camp  fire,  dis 
wan.  'Bout  two,  free  mile  hup  de  Marias.  Mebby 
w'iteman,  hees  smoke." 

Dad  stood  up.  "Whitemen !  Can't  be  whitemen, 
Mac!" 

"Wall,  mebby  Hinjin,"  said  Mac,  like  he  knowed 
it  wa'n't.  "But  dat  wan  hees  look  lak  de  w'iteman." 

All  of  us  that  was  in  the  lodge  went  outside  to 
look.  On  the  Marias  a  thin  coil  of  blue  smoke  was 
going  mighty  nigh  straight  up  under  the  sky. 

"Lige,  go  out  and  tell  the  guard  to  be  ready  to 
run  in  the  stock,"  says  Dad,  looking  to  the  priming 
of  his  rifle.  "Come  on,  Mac." 

I  run  out  to  the  guard,  which  was  Sandy  and 
Alex.  The  smoke  wa'n't  so  plain  to  be  seen  now, 
but  it  was  there  and  couldn't  mean  nothing  but  a 
camp  of  some  sort.  I  could  see  Dad  and  Mac  mak- 
ing their  way  up  the  stream  towards  the  trouble- 
some smoke.  I  hoped  they  would  find  whitemen — 
friends — there.  We  was  doing  so  good,  and  I  could 
see  a  small  fortune  ahead  if  only  we  could  hold  out 
until  spring. 

Alex  and  Sandy  had  already  seen  the  smoke  be- 
fore I  got  to  them.  "Too  bad,  Lige,"  Alex  says, 
with  almost  a  cloud  settlin'  down  on  his  good-na- 
tured face.  "It's  a  toss-up  now  whether  we  git  out 
with  any  fur." 

I  felt  gloomy,  I  can  tell  you.  It  seems  worse  when 
a  fellow  that  always  looks  cheerful  gets  down- 
hearted, like.  Dad  and  Mac  had  disappeared.  I 


158        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

waited,  watching  for  them  to  show  themse'fs;  but 
they  was  hid.  It  must  have  been  two  hours  before 
Alex  saw  them  and  pointed  them  out. 

But  they  didn't  make  no  signal;  seemed  to  be  in 
no  hurry;  and  my  worry  begun  to  get  less,  with 
them  coming  boldly  down  the  Marias  without  no 
attempt  at  concealment.  "I'll  go  in,"  I  says,  "and 
find  out  what's  goin'  on  up  yonder." 

My  curiosity  was  up  and  my  fear  gone.  I  run 
back  to  the  stockade  reaching  the  lodge  long  before 
Dad  and  Mac  come  in. 

"Whitemen."  That  was  Dad's  first  word. 
"Whitemen;  an'  what's  more,  they're  Britishers — 
Hudson's  Bay  men,"  he  says.  "They  cain't  he'p  but 
see  signs  of  us  here,  an'  come  in.  If  they  don't 
we're  jest  plain  lucky,  boys.  Better  git  all  the  fur 
as  nigh  out  o*  sight  as  we  kin.  The  sight  of  it  will 
only  lend  'em  meanness." 

"How  many's  in  the  camp  ?"  asked  Bill,  beginning 
to  he'p  Mac  and  Tom  pack  away  the  beaver  skins. 

"Only  three,"  says  Dad ;  "but  that  proves  a  heap." 

The  lodge-fire  wa'n't  nigh  so  bright  that  night. 
The  men  talked  till  late,  but  they  wa'n't  feeling  pert. 
The  smoke  of  the  other  fire,  up  the  Marias,  had 
plumb  deadened  ours.  Instead  of  packing  up  for 
our  camps  above  and  below  the  stockade  we  'fixed 
ourse'fs  for  a  visit  from  the  Britishers,  which  Dad 
felt  sure  would  come.  Nobody  slept — not  even  Bill 
— and  when  it  got  daylight  Mac  got  up  and  left  the 
lodge. 

Dad  built  the  fire,  and  Sandy  and  Tom  went  out 
to  relieve  Jake  and  Alex.  When  the  guard  got  in 
they  said  the  fire  had  been  kindled  up  the  Marias 
and  the  camp  was  still  there.  I  was  pouring  the 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        159 

tea  when  Mac  come  in,  quick  and  quiet  and  sharp- 
eyed.  "She's  comin'  now,  dem  w'itemans,"  he  said. 
And  Dad  tidied  himse'f  up  to  meet  the  company. 
We  swallowed  our  breakfast  in  a  hurry  and  then 
went  to  the  gate  and  opened  it  wide,  firing  a  few 
shots  of  welcome  as  they  rode  in.  They  was  three 
whitemen;  and  I  couldn't  see  any  difference  be- 
tween them  and  ourse'fs. 

We  went  back  to  the  lodge,  the  men  talking  to- 
gether as  they  walked  along,  and  Dad  sent  me  out 
to  the  herd  with  their  hosses.  They  had  only  four 
— three  saddle-hosses  and  a  pack-animal.  I  hur- 
ried, for  I  wanted  to  hear  what  the  strangers  had 
to  say.  Tom  wanted  to  talk.  But  I  says  the  men 
looked  all  right  I  guessed  and  run  back. 

When  I  raised  the  lodge  door,  they  was  talking 
and  laughing  like  women  at  a  quilting  bee;  so  I 
reckoned  we  was  going  to  get  along. 

They  had  some  liquor  and  treated.  I  liked  their 
looks  and  ways;  and  all  the  morning  they  talked 
open,  making  no  secret  of  their  plans.  They  wa'n't 
trappers  but  clerks  in  the  hire  of  the  Hudson's  Bay 
Company,  and  their  post  was  'way  east  and  north 
of  us  over  the  line.  They  had  come  a  long  way  to 
pay  the  Blackfeet  a  visit  and  at  a  big  risk  of  bad 
storms.  They  said  they  tried  to  keep  in  touch  with 
the  Blackfeet  and  secure  their  trade  when  possible. 
I  couldn't  see  but  what  that  was  fair.  And  I  reckon 
Bill  couldn't  either,  for  he  got  out  his  flat  keg  and 
treated.  And  when  we  had  dinner  Dad  opened  a 
little  keg  of  maple  syrup  he'd  bought  in  St.  Louis. 

What  a  night  we  had!  And  what  a  feast,  with 
every  little  thing  that  Dad  had  laid  in  for  an  extra 
splurge.  They  stayed  two  days  and  nights  and  we 


160        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

had  a  great  time  listening  to  their  stories  and  tell- 
ing yarns  in  our  turn. 

When  they  left  us  we  rode  more'n  twenty  miles 
with  them  to  see  them  off,  and  was  mighty  sorry  to 
have  them  go.  Dad  who  had  been  suspicious  of 
them,  had  been  won  over,  and  give  one  of  them  a 
powder-horn,  all  carved  and  thin  as  paper. 

It  wa'n't  more'n  noon  though,  when  back  in  the 
stockade,  he  and  I  was  packing  up  a  few  things  to 
take  to  our  camp  up  the  Missouri,  and  I  run  onto  a 
leather  packet. 

"Shoo!"  says  Dad,  "our  friends  must  hev  left 
that.  Fell  out  of  their  pockets,  I  reckon.  Letters, 
looks  like,  most  of  it.  Reckon  I'll  saddle  Eagle  an' 
overhaul  'em." 

Bill,  curious,  took  the  packet.  "Mebby  'twouldn't 
be  a  bad  idee  to  see  if  there's  a  fur-list  in  it,"  he 
says,  looking  at  Dad.  "I  don't  much  like  to  prowl 
in  a  mess  o'  private  papers,  but  I  figger  them  fel- 
lers is  enemies,  or  their  bosses  is,"  he  says,  handing 
the  packet  over  to  Dad,  like  he'd  leave  it  to  him. 

Dad  rubbed  his  chin.  "  Tears  like  the  doin's  of 
ornery  folks,"  he  says,  "but  mebby  it's  the  right 
thing  to  do.  What  say,  boys?" 

"Let's  hev  a  look,"  says  Alex.  " 'Twon't  hurt 
'em.  An*  if  it's  honest  truck  in  the  packet,  we'll  be 
sorry  we  didn't  let  it  alone ;  an*  if  it's  something  we 
ought  to  know,  we'll  be  glad  we  looked." 

So,  slowly,  like  he  was  handling  humming-bird's 
eggs,  Dad  undid  the  packet.  There  was  letters  and, 
as  Bill  guessed,  a  price-list  of  furs.  But  Dad's  cu- 
riosity had  been  roused,  and  directly  a  look  of  dis- 
gust crossed  his  face.  He  opened  and  spread  a 
letter  before  us,  though  only  three  of  us  besides 
himse'f  could  read.  The  letter  was  dated  October 
1,  1822,  and  read: 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        161 

Mr.  Josiah  Berkshire,  Esq. 
Sir: 

This  letter  will  be  delivered  to  you  by  an  Iriquois 
Indian  who  will  faithfully  return  with  whatever 
list  of  goods  you  require  for  the  spring  trade. 

With  this  letter  is  a  list  of  prices  now  prevailing, 
together  with  other  information  we  deem  impor- 
tant. 

We  are  happy  to  learn  that  you  succeeded  in  se- 
lecting a  site  for  trading  and  trust  that  your  House 
will  become  an  important  one  in  North  America. 

It  is  most  advisable  that  you  pay  a  visit  to  the 
Blackf eet  before  spring.  Efforts  are  being  made  by 
our  competitors  to  open  friendly  relations  with 
these  Indians  who  have,  as  you  know,  never  traded 
with  Americans.  Do  not  delay  the  visit.  Make 
suitable  gifts  to  their  chiefs  and  headmen  and  as- 
sure them  of  our  friendship.  Endeavor  to  persuade 
them  to  keep  American  trappers  and  traders  out  of 
their  country  in  order  that  we  may  hold  their  trade 
as  usual. 

I  trust  that  the  winter  will  pass  pleasantly  and 
that  the  spring  will  bring  trade  to  your  new  House. 

"The  skunks!"  said  Dad,  with  anger  in  his  gray 
eyes.  "The  ornery  skunks!  We're  in  fer  it  now. 
They'll  start  them  Blackfeet  our  way  as  soon's  they 
reach  their  village.  I've  always  heered  they  did 
sech  things,  an*  now  I  know.  They  kin  come  an' 
git  their  packet,  but  I'll  shore  hold  out  this  letter." 

Bill  lit  his  pipe.  "I  wish  they  would  come  after 
it,"  he  said  between  puffs.  "I'd  kinder  like  to  cook 
'em  another  meal." 

We  took  down  the  meat-racks  to  make  room  for 
the  stock,  and  when  morning  come  we  took  up  every 
trap,  so  that  by  night  we  was  ready  for  trouble. 
The  stock  was  herded  close  in  where  the  grass  had 
been  saved  for  an  emergency. 


162        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

"We  kin  sleep  tonight,  an'  tomorrow  night,  too, 
says  Dad,  "but  after  that,  f er  a  time,  I  reckon  we'll 
sleep  standin'  up  like  a  pony." 

"Mac,"  says  Bill  from  his  bed,  "did  ye  ever  know 
of  the  Hudson's  Bay  outfit  tryin'  to  keep  the  In- 
jins  set  agin  us  Americans?" 

"Oui.  HFm  know  dat  long  tarn.  She's  tell  it 
Kootenai,  she's  tell  it  Cree,  jest  de  sam'.  De  Cree 
she's  stop  hon  Canada  mos*  hall  tarn.  She's  comin' 
'ere,  de  Cree,  some  tarn  por  'unt  de  buffalo,  fight  de 
Blackfeet  leetle,  too,  mebby,  mos'  every  year." 

"Wisht  they  was  here  now,"  growled  Bill,  turn- 
ing over.  "A  Cree  village  is  jest  what  I'd  like  to 


see." 


Mac  muttered  something  under  his  breath. 
"Mebby  she's  come,  Meester  Bill,"  he  says,  aloud. 
And  reaching  fer  a  brand  from  the  fire  he  lit  his 
pipe  and  passed  it  to  me. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

One  by  one  those  in  the  lodge  fell  asleep,  while 
Mac  and  I  speaking  Cree  between  us,  fed  the  fire 
and  waited  for  our  turn  to  relieve  the  guard.  Mac 
seemed  to  be  in  a  queer  mood,  gazing  fixed  at  the 
fire  and  filling  his  pipe  oftener  than  usual.  His 
spoken  words  was  little  above  a  whisper,  and  more 
and  more  he  seemed  unwilling  to  talk ;  only  answer- 
ing my  questions  with  a  few  whispered  words.  At 
last,  feeling  the  mood  myse'f,  I  fell  silent,  and  only 
the  breathing  of  our  pardners  and  the  crackling  of 
the  fire  made  sounds.  I  lost  myse'f  complete.  Aunt 
Lib  come  into  my  mind,  and  Caley  Byers;  and 
finally  Red  Robe's  daughter  replaced  them  both.  I 
got  to  dreaming  of  her.  I  tried  to  see  her  face  in 
the  fire  and  thought  I  could.  I  could  hear  her  soft 
voice  and  tried  to  remember  what  she'd  said  to  her 
father  that  day  in  the  store.  I  begun  to  hope  to 
see  her — talk  to  her  and  know  her.  She  was  young 
like  me,  and  pretty,  and  stranger  than  any  girl  I'd 
ever  seen. 

"Come."  Mac  touched  my  shoulder.  It  was  as 
tight  as  a  fiddle  string  and  I  jumped.  "It  is  time 
for  us  to  go,"  he  said,  picking  up  his  rifle. 

We  went  out  into  the  sharp,  starlit  night.  I  had 
never  felt  so  keen  before.  I  couldn't  have  slept  if 
I'd  tried.  I  felt  like  I  wanted  to  run,  to  fight,  any- 
thing to  give  me  a  chance  to  exert  myse'f  up  to  the 
limit  of  my  strength.  Cracky!  how  queer  I  felt. 
And  when  out  on  a  knoll-top  under  the  stars  Mac 
begun  to  sing  Cree,  low,  like,  and  earnest,  I  fell  in 
with  him  and  beat  time  like  a  war-drum  with  my 

163 


164        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

knife-handle  on  my  rifle-stock.  On  our  knees  there 
in  the  night  we  sung ;  but  I  didn't  know  why  then ; 
nor  that  Mac  was  making  medicine  to  bring  the 
Crees.  He'd  put  some  sort  of  a  spell  on  me  and 
my  thoughts  was  away  in  their  village,  as,  beating 
the  time  we  sung  together  like  full-blooded  In j ins. 

At  last  he  got  up  and  looking  me  full  in  the  eyes, 
his  face  close  to  my  own,  he  says,  "Mee-wah-sin !  It 
is  good.  Ho!" 

From  then  until  day  he  spoke  no  more ;  and  when 
the  sunlight  come  and  Sandy  and  Tom  relieved  us, 
I  had  a  feeling  that  the  Crees  wa'n't  no  longer  on 
the  Yellowstone,  that  they  wa'n't  far  away,  and  was 
even  moving  towards  us.  But  whether  it  was 
Mac's  singing  and  muttering  that  done  it,  I  couldn't 
tell.  At  last  I  said,  "Where  are  the  Crees  now, 
Mac?"  as  though  I  expected  him  to  tell  me. 

"I  do  not  know  just  where,"  he  answered  in  Cree, 
"but  they  are  coming  this  way.  Their  village  must 
be  on  the  Missouri  below  us." 

Did  you  ever  feel  that  a  thing  was  true  when 
there  wa'n't  even  the  least  proof  of  it?  Well,  I  felt 
that  Mac's  words  was  the  truth  just  as  much  as  I 
would  have  believed  them  if  he'd  been  with  the 
Crees  a  day  before.  And  even  now,  after  I've  been 
so  long  among  them,  I  don't  understand  it.  But  I 
felt  relieved  then;  and  have  known  such  things 
more  than  once  since  that  December  day. 

They  was  gathering  more  wood  and  cutting  more 
grass  when  we  got  to  the  stockade.  There  wa'n't 
any  snow,  but  the  ground  was  froze  hard  and  they 
dragged  cottonwood  logs  into  the  enclosure  with 
rawhide  ropes  from  a  saddle. 

"Sleepy,  Lige?"  asked  Bill  when  I'd  eaten  my 
breakfast. 


u 

be 
a 


I 

~ 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        165 

"No,"  I  told  him.  "I  never  felt  more  wide  awake 
in  my  life." 

"Let's  me  an'  you  go  out  an'  kill  a  buffalo  or  two 
fer  fresh  meat,"  he  says. 

And  so  we  went,  Bill  and  I.  We  killed  two  good 
cows  and  had  started  back  for  the  travois,  when 
from  a  knoll,  I  saw  something  that  held  my  eyes. 
It  was  moving — a  long  string  like  a  snake,  and  far 
off  down  the  Missouri  out  of  the  breaks.  I  pulled 
up.  "What's  that  yonder,  Bill?"  I  says,  pointing. 

"Injins,  by  God!"  he  says.  "Come  on!"  and  he 
ripped  away,  down  and  up,  over  the  rolling  country. 

There  was  somebody  on  the  gate  when  we  come  in 
sight  of  the  stockade.  "It's  Mac,"  I  says,  and  Bill 
pulled  up  and  begun  to  ride  in  a  circle. 

Directly  Mac  burst  out,  making  straight  for  us 
and  lashing  his  pony  with  his  rope.  When  he  was 
nigh  enough  to  hear,  Bill  called,  "Injins  comin', 
Mac !  Want  ye  to  hev  a  look  at  'em !  Mebby  they're 
Crees !" 

Then  he  wheeled  his  hoss  and  we  raced  back  to 
the  knoll  and  stopped  to  wait  till  Mac  come  up.  I 
pointed  and  Mac  give  one  sharp  look.  "Cree,  by 
gar,  she's  come!"  he  said,  his  black  eyes  shining. 

"Whoopee!"  yelled  Bill,  waving  his  blue  head- 
silk,  nigh  wild  with  relief.  "Let's  git  the  boys  an' 
go  to  meet  'em  in  style!" 

I  shan't  never  feel  happier  in  my  life.  Every- 
body was  talking  at  once  in  the  stockade.  The 
hosses  was  caught  up,  and  Dad  painted  himse'f  and 
Eagle.  Everybody  painted  up  and  fixed  his  hoss 
for  the  welcome.  Then,  leaving  Tom  and  Sandy  in 
the  stockade,  we  pranced  out  to  meet  the  Crees, 
with  everybody  talking  and  laughing  like  a  passel 
of  blackbirds  in  the  fall  time. 


166        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

The  Injins  was  on  our  side  of  the  river  and  di- 
rectly we  come  in  sight  of  them.  But  their  scouts 
had  seen  us  long  before  and  was  ready  for  fight. 
It  was  mighty  pretty  to  see  them  get  theirse'fs  in 
order — the  camp  with  the  women  and  children 
guarded,  and  skirmishers  ahead.  It  was  all  done 
so  quick  and  fine  that  in  a  minute  the  warriors  was 
stripped  for  battle. 

Dad  left  Eagle  break  into  a  run,  yelling,  "Here 
we  go,  boys!"  Alex  fired  his  rifle;  and  we  all  did, 
waving  them  over  our  heads  after  they  was  empty 
and  yelling  like  all  get  out. 

Then  a  gun  went  off  among  the  Injins.  I  saw 
the  puff  of  smoke  before  I  heered  the  report.  Sev- 
eral braves  rode  out  to  meet  us.  The  rest  stopped 
and  waited.  Directly  the  braves  rode  close  enough 
to  recognize  Mac.  Cracky !  but  they  was  glad  to  see 
him.  In  less  than  two  minutes  we  was  in  the  mid- 
dle of  a  passel  of  more'n  two  hundred  warriors,  all 
jolly  and  wanting  to  be  friendly. 

The  Chief  singled  out  Dad  right  away  and  they 
begun  to  talk  in  the  sign  language.  Dad's  hair, 
sprinkled  with  gray  like  it  was,  marked  him  as  a 
big  man  with  the  Injins.  They  respect  gray  hair 
more  than  we  do.  They  hold  that  Manitou  allows 
only  good  men  to  grow  gray  and  that  gray  hair  is  a 
mark  of  His  special  favor.  Dad  could  talk  as  fast 
as  the  Chief.  They  was  too  many  for  me;  but  I 
watched  them  right  close,  I  tell  you.  I  wished  Mac 
had  stayed  by  me,  but  he'd  found  his  family  and 
was  lost  in  the  crowd.  I  didn't  get  all  the  Chief 
and  Dad  said,  but  I  did  understand  the  most  of  it. 
Dad  told  the  Chief  that  we  were  at  war  with  the 
Blackfeet;  that  they  was  bad  people;  that  their 
hearts  was  bad.  He  said  that  if  we  stole  any  of 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        167 

their  bosses  the  Crees  could  have  them  as  well  as 
all  the  scalps  we  took.  He  invited  the  Chief  to  a 
big  feast  the  next  night  and  told  him  to  bring  his 
warriors  with  him.  "There  are  many  buffalo  near 
our  stockade,"  said  Dad.  "It  would  be  well  if  you 
camped  near  us  until  spring  comes.  I  have  fin- 
ished." 

"We  do  not  want  war,"  begun  the  Chief,  "but  if 
the  Blackfeet  come  we  will  fight  them."  He  said 
they  were  always  his  enemies  and  that  Dad  was 
right — their  hearts  was  bad.  He  said  he  would 
camp  near  us  as  long  as  there  was  meat  handy  and 
that  he  would  come  to  the  feast  with  his  headmen 
and  warriors. 

Cracky!  but  I  was  tickled.  I  begun  to  look  for 
Mac  and  Red  Robe's  daughter,  but  I  didn't  see 
either  of  them.  I  even  rode  out  of  the  crowd  and 
moved  about  by  myse'f;  but  there  was  so  many 
travois  and  hosses  and  people  all  mixed  up  that  I 
didn't  have  time  to  find  them  before  we  started 
back  for  the  stockade,  with  twenty  young  Crees. 
They  was  a  mighty  clean-looking  lot,  tall  and  thin 
mostly,  and  lively  as  kittens,  but  careful  not  to 
seem  careless  or  unlike  the  older  warriors.  Some 
wore  weasel-skins  braided  in  their  hair  and  one  or 
two  was  painted,  but  mostly  they  wore  good-looking 
shirts  and  leggings  like  our  own.  Dad  didn't  come 
along  but  stayed  with  the  Chief.  And  Mac  hadn't 
turned  up;  so  I  had  to  go  without  even  seeing  the 
girl,  though  I'd  seen  Red  Robe  while  Dad  and  the 
Chief  was  talking. 

Before  sundown  the  smoke  from  more  than  a 
hundred  lodges  was  perfuming  the  air  down  by  the 
river.  All  the  hosses,  the  Crees'  and  ours  was  out 
under  double  guard ;  and  everybody  felt  good  again. 
I  can't  never  forget  that  night.  I  was  leaning 


168        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

against  the  open  gate  of  the  stockade  looking  at  the 
Injin  camp.  Dad  took  a  place  beside  me.  The  moon 
was  full  and  her  light  silvered  the  lodges  so  that 
the  shadows  of  the  naked  cottonwood  limbs  that 
fell  on  them  shimmered  and  sparkled,  like.  At  first 
there  was  fires  in  every  lodge — fires  that  showed 
through  like  reddish-yellow  lanthorns.  But  one  by 
one  they  went  out  till  mighty  nigh  all  was  dark 
inside.  The  rippling  of  the  Marias  waters  came 
loud,  then  soft,  as  the  breeze  strengthened  or  les- 
sened, carrying  the  sound  to  us  and  away  again.  I 
fell  to  wondering  which  was  Red  Robe's  lodge,  and 
couldn't  he'p  picking  the  biggest,  whitest  one  in  the 
camp  for  the  home  of  the  girl  I'd  seen  in  the  store. 
Now  I  could  get  to  see  her  again  and  know  her — 
even  talk  to  her  some  in  her  own  language.  Mac 
would  take  me  to  visit  her  in  the  lodge.  Not  even 
a  dog  was  stirring  in  the  big  camp.  There  wa'n't  a 
sound  by  the  river. 

"They  shore  do  look  good,  don't  they  son?" 

I  reckon  I  jumped.  I  had  forgot  Dad,  altogether, 
"Yes,"  I  said,  "they  look  awful  good.  I'm  glad  1 
can  talk  Cree  some." 

"I  reckon  you  be,"  he  chuckled.  "We'll  give  them 
Blackfeet  all  they  want  now,  son — if  they  come. 
I  'most  wish  they  would  come,"  he  sighed ;  "that  is, 
if  they  fetch  their  friends  along  with  'em.  We'll 
hev  to  make  that  feast  tomorrow,  an'  it  will  mighty 
nigh  clean  us  out;  but  if  our  friends  didn't  do  it, 
the  Blackfeet  would,  I  reckon."  He  moved  away. 
"I'm  goin'  to  turn  in,  son,"  he  said. 

The  moon  climbed  higher,  and  queer  shadows 
crept  out  from  the  lodges  to  hide  in  the  brush  along 
the  river  as  the  silver  light  brightened  above  the 
camp.  The  breeze  had  died  down  to  nothing  and 
the  air  was  so  sharp  it  stung  my  ears.  The  shad- 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        169 

ows  of  the  cottonwoods  fell  in  black  streaks  across 
the  water,  and  upon  thin  ice  that  was  forming  nigh 
the  shore.  A  big  horned  owl  turned  loose  over  the 
river.  His  deep  voice  roused  the  echoes  and  in  the 
thin  frosty  air  was  fearful  loud.  Whoo-oo,  who, 
who!  Cracky!  if  that  camp  wa'n't  a  spooky  place, 
I'm  a  nigger. 

I  was  chilled  through  and  closing  the  gate,  I  went 
to  the  camp  to  get  warm.  Dad  was  fixing  to  mould 
some  bullets.  He  hadn't  gone  to  bed.  Nobody  had. 
"We'll  cache  a  little  of  our  stock  of  jimcracks  an' 
spread  the  rest,"  he  was  saying  when  I  entered. 
"At  daylight  we  kin  git  in  that  meat  an'  we'll  make 
as  big  a  showin'  as  we  kin.  If  we  git  into  it — an' 
I  reckon  we  will — we  won't  git  no  trade  with  the 
Blackf  eet  noway ;  so  all  we  kin  look  f  er  is  trade  with 
our  friends  the  Crees,  after  they've  hunted  an'  trap- 
ped a  spell."  He  put  his  ladle  into  the  fire  and  cut 
a  bar  of  lead  into  pieces  with  his  hatchet.  "What  a 
tea-party  we'll  give  them  Blackfeet,"  he  laughed. 
"They'll  wait  f  er  a  storm  likely,  an'  it'll  be  a  day- 
light affair,  I  cal'late.  But  they'll  buy  in  on  a  mess, 
them  fellers  will,  for  the  Crees  is  good  fighters." 

He  dropped  the  lead  into  the  hot  ladle.  It  sunk, 
melted,  almost  at  once.  Then  he  begun  to  mould 
round  balls  with  a  quickness  I'd  never  seen  before. 
"This  here  old  world  must  smell  awful  to  a  good 
dog,"  he  says,  as  the  bright  shiny  bullets  rolled 
about  him. 

"Why,  Dad?"  I  says. 

"Oh,  I  was  jest  thinkin'  of  the  hidden  ways  of 
men,"  he  sighed.  "Mostly  I  was  thinkin'  of  them 
three  with  white  skins  who  come  to  us  here  in  the 
wilderness,  et  our  meat,  laughed  with  us,  even  shook 
us  by  the  hand  at  partin'.  They  wished  us  luck 
with  their  lips,  but  while  their  tongues  was  formin' 


170        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

the  words  they  was  intendin'  to  deal  us  a  card  from 
the  bottom  of  a  filthy  deck.  Yes,  son,  I  bet  a  good 
dog  smells  a  heap  an*  wonders  a  lot — Shoo!*'  he'd 
burned  his  hand  with  the  mould. 

At  last,  setting  the  hot  ladle  away,  he  rolled  the 
bright  bullets  into  a  robe,  and  turning,  asked,  "Alex, 
what  did  ye  ever  do  with  that  strawberry  roan  hoss 
ye  hed  last  year?" 

"Sold  him  to  Andy  Gray,"  says  Alex. 

"Git  the  money?"  Dad's  eyes  twinkled  merry, 
and  I  was  glad,  someway,  he'd  changed  the  sub- 
ject. 

"No.  Got  his  note  though."  I  could  see  Alex 
didn't  want  to  talk  about  it.  But  Dad  pretended 
he  didn't  notice  it. 

"Once,"  he  said,  "Smith  Terry  sold  Andy  Gray  a 
yoke  of  cattle  fer  fifty  beaver  skins.  Andy  paid 
five  hides  down;  an'  a  year  later  Smith  heered 
where  he  was  livin'  an'  rode  over  to  see  him.  He 
was  aimin'  to  git  the  rest  of  them  skins,  fer  beaver 
was  high  that  spring.  Andy  had  got  himse'f  a 
squaw  an*  hed  settled  down  nigh  to  a  spring  of 
water,  'bout  forty  miles  from  a  beaver  slide.  He 
knowed  what  Smith  hed  come  fer,  though,  an'  ad- 
mitted the  debt  like  a  man.  He  says,  'Smith,'  he 
says,  'I  ain't  ketched  a  beaver  in  a  hell  of  a  while. 
Don't  see  no  sign  neither,  lately.  But  I'll  pay  ye 
them  other  forty-five  hides  if  it  takes  me  the  rest 
of  my  life  to  trap  'em.'  An'  it  will  take  him  full 
that  long,  most  likely.  I'd  as  lief  hev  a  mortgage 
on  a  band  of  antelope  as  Andy  Gray's  note.  That 
was  a  good  hoss,  that  roan." 

The  fire  was  making  a  strange  noise.  Singing, 
Dad  called  it.  "It's  fixin'  fer  a  storm,  son,"  he 
said.  "An'  that  will  jest  suit  them  Blackfeet.  I'm 
goin'  to  turn  in." 


CHAPTER  XIX 

Dad's  snoring  pestered  me  that  night.  I  couldn't 
go  to  sleep.  Near  midnight  clouds  covered  the 
stars  I'd  been  watching  through  the  smoke-hole  and 
a  wind  come  up  and  shook  the  lodge.  It  was  grow- 
ing colder,  too,  and  I  tucked  my  blanket  closer  about 
me;  but  I  couldn't  go  to  sleep.  I  thought  of  the 
Injin  camp  and  the  moonlit  lodges  and  Red  Robe's 
daughter  for  hours.  And  twice  above  the  wind  I 
heered  the  voice  of  the  horned  owl  over  the  river. 

The  morning  broke  with  a  sky  full  of  running 
clouds  and  a  cold  wind  that  cut  like  all  get  out. 
While  I  was  building  a  fire  in  the  lodge  Mac  come 
in  from  the  Injin  camp;  and  after  breakfast  Bill 
went  out  with  Jake  and  Alex  to  fetch  in  the  meat. 
But  the  wolves  had  got  it,  and  they  had  to  kill  more ; 
so  it  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  they  come  in 
with  it. 

Mac  and  I  he'ped  Dad  get  things  ready  for  the 
feast,  and  spent  nigh  all  the  morning  cutting  up 
meat  and  spreading  what  we  had,  including  more 
than  half  a  keg  of  molasses  and  some  sugar.  I 
hated  to  see  it  go.  But  we  didn't  have  much  be- 
sides meat  to  spread,  noway. 

It  was  nigh  noon  when  Dad  says,  "Son,  you  an' 
Mac  best  go  down  to  the  village  an'  rustle  up  some 
kittles.  It'll  take  a-plenty  I  cal'late." 

I  was  glad  to  go.  Mac  would  call  at  the  lodges 
and  ask  fer  kettles,  I  thought.  I'd  see  Red  Robe's 
girl. 

But  Mac  didn't  do  that.  He  straddled  a  hoss  and 

171 


172        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

rode  about  the  village  calling  for  kettles  to  use  at 
the  feast,  and  the  women  brought  them  and  put 
them  in  a  pile  and  went  away.  I  never  saw  so 
many  kettles  before.  There  was  big  ones  and  little 
ones,  and  all  of  them  made  of  brass.  Mac  begun 
to  pick  out  the  biggest  ones;  and  I  was  looking  for 
the  girl  and  wondering  if  her  mother  had  fetched  a 
kettle  already. 

My  eyes  lit  on  a  little  hoss  staked  in  front  of  a 
lodge  nearby.  Both  his  ears  was  cut  off,  or  froze 
off,  making  him  look  wild  and  curious.  He  was 
only  half -broke  and  ornery  as  all  get  out  and  snorty. 
All  of  a  sudden  while  I  was  looking  at  him,  the  wind 
blew  a  wolf -skin  from  a  willow  bush  smack  against 
his  heels.  He  whistled  like  a  white-tail  buck  deer 
and  tore  away  with  the  wolf -skin  right  after  him, 
lickety-split.  Suddenly  he  turned  sharp  around  a 
big  painted  lodge  and  the  stake  he  was  dragging 
ketched  under  the  lodge-skin.  It  ripped  and  come 
down,  like  a  passel  of  poles  in  a  big  bag.  A  child 
screamed,  muffled,  like,  and  smoke  and  a  whirling 
blur  of  white  ashes  hid  the  pile.  Mac  and  I  started 
to  run  towards  the  wreck.  An  Injin,  coiling  his  lar- 
iat, dashed  past  us  on  the  trail  of  the  runaway  hoss, 
his  heels  drumming  a  tattoo  on  his  pony's  sides. 
Lodge-doors  raised  and  heads  was  thrust  out,  some- 
times more  than  one  to  a  door;  and  there  was  a 
heap  of  laughing  and  banter  back  and  forth.  Some 
women  hurried  down  towards  the  overturned  lodge 
to  he'p.  But  we  got  there  ahead  of  them. 

Two  women  was  standing  by  it  with  flecks  of 
feathery-white  ashes  in  their  black  hair.  There 
was  four  small  children  clinging  to  the  older  wo- 
man's dress,  but  she  wa'n't  noticing  them.  She 
was  telling  all  the  world  what  she  thought  of  hoss- 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        173 

creation,  in  a  shrill  voice.  The  other  was  laughing 
fit  to  kill  herse'f,  clutching  a  shiny  brass  kettle 
under  her  arm;  but  when  she  turned  her  face  to- 
wards us,  I  felt  like  I'd  been  ketched  at  some  ornery 
trick.  It  was  her — Red  Robe's  daughter. 

The  laugh  went  out  of  her  eyes  quicker'n  scat. 
She  handed  the  kettle  to  Mac,  and  bending  over, 
begun  to  pull  the  ground  pegs  that  held  the  lodge- 
skin  down,  as  though  there  wa'n't  a  second  to  lose. 
I'd  never  seen  a  face  change  so  quick.  When  she 
handed  Mac  the  kettle  there  was  a  startled,  half- 
frightened,  look  in  her  eyes,  distrustful,  like,  that 
made  me  feel  the  stockade  was  the  place  for  me. 
But  I  stooped  and  ketched  hold  of  a  peg  and  pulled 
it.  "I  will  he'p  you,"  I  said  in  Cree. 

She  flashed  a  glance  out  of  the  corner  of  her  eye, 
and  one  big  braid  of  her  hair  slipping  over  her 
shoulder  to  the  ground,  she  ketched  it  up  and  tossed 
it  back.  We  both  reached  for  the  same  peg  and  our 
hands  touched.  She  pulled  hers  away  like  she  was 
bit.  Mac  laughed,  and  she  run  to  the  nearest  lodge 
and  disappeared. 

There  was  plenty  of  other  he'p  now,  and  Mac  and 
I  went  back  to  the  pile  of  kettles. 

"That's  her,  Mac,"  I  says.  "What's  her  name? 
Red  Robe's  girl,  I  mean." 

"His  nam'  Bluebird,  dat  wan.  Ca-skee-tah-coo- 
pe-asis.  You  lak  dat  gal?  Hee's  dam  good  gal, 
Bluebird,  you  bat !" 

"Yes,  I  like  her,  Mac,"  I  says.  "But  she's  afraid 
of  me.  Let's  us  visit  Red  Robe's  lodge  sometime — 
tonight,  mebby?" 

"Mebby,"  he  says,  stringing  a  lot  of  kettlebails 
on  his  arms.  "Mebby  Blackfeet,  she's  comin'  to- 
night— mebby  no." 


174        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

"How  old  is  she,  Mac?"  I  asked,  loading  myse'f 
up  with  kettles. 

"HI  don't  know,  me.  Mebby  eighteen  snow  is 
gone  now;  bout  dat.  Hee's  dam  good  gal,  Blue- 
bird." 

I  was  sorry  the  feast  was  to  be  that  night.  I 
wanted  to  see  Bluebird  by  her  own  fire.  I  was  glad 
her  father's  lodge  was  painted,  proving  that  Red 
Robe  was  a  medicine-man,  or  a  man  of  importance, 
in  the  Cree  tribe.  I  would  pay  him  a  visit  as  soon 
as  I  could.  I  made  up  my  mind  to  that. 

The  feast  was  ready  before  dark,  and  Dad  spread 
mighty  nigh  all  the  extras  we  had.  But  we  didn't 
have  much  besides  meat.  Everybody  and  every- 
thing on  the  plains  lived  on  meat,  except  the  brutes 
we  lived  on,  ourse'fs.  They  and  the  beaver  ate  no 
meat;  but  all  the  rest  was  killers  like  ourse'fs.  I 
hated  to  see  the  molasses  go.  There  was  nigh  half 
a  keg  of  it;  but  there  wa'n't  a  smidgen  left  after 
that  night,  nor  any  sugar. 

"Well,"  said  Dad,  at  sundown,  "the  trap  is  set. 
Fetch  'em  on,  Mac." 

Mac  got  on  a  hoss  and  rode  down  through  the 
village  singing  out  our  invitation  to  come  to  the 
feast.  He  didn't  forget  to  tell  how  good  and  great 
we  was,  and  I  thought  he  went  pretty  far  in  his 
praises,  but  that  is  their  way. 

Directly  they  commenced  to  come  in  and  the 
stockade  to  fill  up.  They  sat  on  both  sides  of  the 
long  fire  where  about  seventy-five  steaming  kettles 
was  hanging  or  setting  on  coals  on  its  edge,  sending 
up  the  smell  of  fat  buffalo  meat.  They  was  all 
dressed  up,  and  some  of  the  clothes  and  ornaments 
they  wore  was  beautiful  to  look  at.  You  wouldn't 
believe  what  they  can  do  with  porcupine  quills  and 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        175 

the  quills  of  bird-feathers.  Their  bullet  pouches 
looked  too  fine  for  use  and  their  head-dresses,  made 
mostly  of  eagle  feathers — young  birds,  at  that, 
which  show  a  lot  of  white  on  them — was  a  sight  in 
the  firelight.  There  was  a  heap  of  finery  there  and 
I  knowed  it  took  a  lot  of  work  to  make  it.  Not 
many  things  was  alike.  Nobody  copied  his  neigh- 
bor, but  had,  or  tried  to  have,  a  rig  of  his  own ;  and 
some  of  the  designs  in  the  quill  work  was  too  won- 
derful for  me  to  describe.  I  just  set  down  and 
looked  at  them.  And  when  it  got  darker  they 
looked  prettier. 

Dad  made  a  little  talk,  and  then  we  set  out  the 
kettles  and  they  went  at  it.  Dad  was  jolly  and 
moving  a  kettle  here  and  there,  went  on  talking  in 
English.  "A  herd  of  b'iled  buffalo  would  last  this 
outfit  about  as  long  as  a  fried  hummin'-bird  would 
feed  a  pack  o*  hounds,"  he  says,  and  sat  down  by 
the  Chief. 

How  they  slicked  up  the  kettles!  In  no  time  at 
all  they  was  empty  and  every  drop  of  syrup  gone. 
After  which  the  smoking  commenced,  and  the 
speech-making. 

Dad  presented  the  Chief  with  a  whole  keg  of 
powder,  some  flints,  and  a  quart  of  bullets.  Cracky ! 
but  that  pleased  the  Injins.  The  Chief  called 
twenty  braves  by  name  and  when  they  rose  and 
stood  before  him,  he  counted  out  a  handful  of  bul- 
lets for  each,  besides  filling  a  lot  of  empty  powder- 
horns  from  the  keg  of  powder  Dad  had  given  him. 
I  never  saw  more  happiness  over  a  present  than 
over  that  powder  and  lead. 

And  the  Chief  didn't  forget  his  men  who  was 
with  the  pony-herd,  but  made  a  speech  asking  us  to 
remember  their  service  while  we  was  feasting,  to 


176        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

save  meat  for  them.  Dad  said  it  would  be  done, 
and  Bill  put  ten  kettles  of  meat  on  the  fire  to  boil 
against  their  coming. 

We  was  sparing  with  our  tobacco,  but  at  the  end 
Dad  give  the  Chief  a  present  of  nigh  two  pounds. 
The  Chief  divided  it  among  his  headmen,  and  they 
in  turn  whacked  up  with  others.  Nobody  held  out 
or  was  stingy  or  mean.  Everybody  got  part  of  the 
presents;  except  the  blankets,  and  a  share  in  them 
wa'n't  expected. 

It  was  fixing  to  storm  by  the  time  they  left,  tak- 
ing with  them  the  empty  kettles.  I  was  glad  when 
we'd  shut  the  stockade  gate.  From  there  I  could 
see  the  fires  shining  through  the  lodges  among  the 
trees;  and  in  less  than  ten  minutes  after  our  com- 
pany had  left  us,  a  drum  was  beating  in  the  village 
and  a  strange  chanted  song  come  to  us  on  the  wind. 
We  barred  the  gate  and  went  back  to  the  lodge. 
Dad  lit  his  pipe.  The  firelight  flickered  on  the  wall 
in  zig-zag  patterns  and  nobody  spoke  for  a  spell. 
The  sound  of  the  drum  and  the  chant  down  in  the 
village  had  layed  hold  of  us.  Dad  was  restless  and 
showed  it.  The  wind  was  growing  stronger  and 
sleet  was  beginning  to  patter  on  the  lodge-skin.  A 
white  weasel  stuck  his  head  inside  near  me,  his 
wicked,  beady  little  eyes  blinking  at  the  firelight  a 
moment,  before  he  vanished  like  a  shadow. 

Suddenly  Mac  stood  up  and  bent  forward,  his 
hand  behind  his  ear.  "By  gar,"  he  said,  "jist  me, 
HFrn  'ear  de  shot,  mebby!" 

We  sat  still,  like  we  was  cut  out  of  stone ;  but  no 
sound  come  to  us  above  the  howl  of  the  wind.  Mac 
swung  his  bow  and  quiver  of  arrows  over  his 
shoulder  and  sat  down  again  with  his  rifle  across 
his  knees. 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        177 

"Hark!"  Dad  half  rose,  as  the  lodge  door  was 
jerked  up  and  a  painted  face  looked  in,  followed  by 
a  naked  arm  that  clutched  the  hair  of  a  bloody 
scalp. 

"By  gar!"  whispered  Mac,  springing  up.  "Me, 
HFm  'ear  de  shot,  sure.  Dey're  'ere,  de  Black- 
feet!" 

The  lodge  door  dropped  and  the  painted  face  and 
the  scalp  vanished.  We  heered  the  boom  of  hoofs 
on  the  frozen  ground.  It  was  the  pony-band  of  the 
Crees,  together  with  our  own  hosses  and  mules, 
racing  past  with  the  Injin  herders  behind  them. 
We  rushed  out  and  down  to  the  open  gate.  The 
village  was  astir.  I  could  hear  men  calling  to  each 
other,  making  ready  to  corral  the  coming  hosses.  I 
couldn't  see  ten  feet  before  me;  and  the  wind  was 
fearful  strong  and  chill. 

"I  cal'late  this  here  is  more  our  rucus  than  it  is 
the  Cree's,"  says  Dad.  "They  won't  come  to  the 
stockade  to  fight,  noway.  We'd  best  go  down  an* 
make  our  fight  along  with  'em." 

So  we  untied  our  war-hosses  that  had  been  kept 
inside  the  stockade  since  the  night  we  read  the 
Britishers'  letter,  and  went  down  to  the  village. 

Every  fire  was  out,  but  the  sleet  had  froze  to  the 
lodges  so  that  they  looked  like  white,  sharp-pointed 
patches  standing  upright  in  the  dark.  Injins  was 
going  this  way  and  that  and  women  talking  fast 
and  herding  their  children  back  into  the  dark 
lodges.  In  two  big  rope-corrals  the  hosses  was  mill- 
ing and  tramping.  I  could  hear  the  smack  of  kicks 
and  the  click  of  teeth  as  stallion  met  stallion  inside 
the  raw-hide  ropes,  and  I  reckoned  there  would  be 
some  broken  legs  among  them.  It  seemed  that 
everybody  was  doing  something — roping  hosses  or 


178        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

hurrying  in  or  out  of  lodges,  though  with  all  the 
stir  there  wa'n't  any  confusion  or  foolishness.  The 
village  looked  spooky  and  unreal,  with  the  big, 
snow-streaked  lodges  marking  the  rim  of  a  circle 
that  was  plumb  broke  and  blotted  out  here  and 
there  when  the  wind  whirled  the  snow  in  the  air. 
Over  in  the  center  I  made  out  a  big  corral — or  I 
thought  it  was  a  corral — full  of  stock.  Just  then 
a  man  passed  us,  hurrying  along  with  his  hoss.  He 
was  headed  that  way  and  we  followed  him. 

What  I'd  thought  was  a  corral  was  more  than  a 
hundred  braves,  with  the  Chief,  standing  by  their 
hosses,  ready  to  ride  in  a  jiffy.  The  storm  fretted 
the  animals  and  they  pawed  and  stirred  about,  ner- 
vous and  wanting  to  move;  but  nobody  complained 
or  made  a  fuss.  Dad  and  the  Chief  begun  to  talk 
in  signs,  and  Mac,  who  was  by  me,  told  me  what 
they  said,  though  I  knowed  most  of  it  myse'f .  The 
Chief  said  that  a  strong  party  of  Crees  was  out  on 
the  plains  and  that  scouts  was  everywhere  waiting 
for  the  Blackfeet,  who  he  didn't  think  would  fight 
till  daybreak.  Now  and  then  a  scout  come  in  and 
went  out  again.  And  the  hours  dragged  slower'n 
all  get  out.  The  wind  shook  the  branches  of  the  big 
trees  over  the  river  till  they  rattled  like  a  passel  of 
dry  bones,  and  my  fingers  fairly  stuck  to  my  rifle- 
barrel,  it  was  so  bitter  cold.  When  the  owPs  voice 
come  over  the  river  above  the  storm,  Mac  edged 
closer  to  my  side  and  says  in  a  voice  that  shook 
with  superstition,  "Dat's  bad,  dat  howl.  HI  don' 
lak  por  heem  mak'  talk  jist  now,  me."  He  glanced 
cautious  over  his  shoulder,  and  still  speaking  in 
English,  whispered,  "Hinjin  no  lakum  howl  talk 
lak  dat.  She's  stop  dere  long  tarn  now,  dat  howl. 
Damn!" 

He  turned  his  back  to  me,  squatting  in  the  snow, 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        179 

as  a  drum  in  Black  Bear's  lodge  commenced  beat- 
ing. To-tum,  to-tum,  to-tum,  wilder'n  a  wolf,  but 
solemn  and  deep  as  a  mountain  lake,  the  drumming 
beats  rose  and  fell  with  the  wind.  "Bear,  where 
are  you?  Hi-yah!  Bear,  listen.  Ho-yah!  Bear, 
great  Medicine-man  of  the  Crees;  Bear,  mighty, 
great  Medicine-man  of  the  Crees !  Hi-yah !  Ho-yah ! 
Hi-yah!"  It  was  Black  Bear's  voice,  chanting  in  a 
high-pitched  key,  the  song  of  the  Bear.  Mac  bowed 
his  head ;  and  a  stiffening  silence  fell  on  us.  Cracky ! 
It  was  worse'n  the  owl.  I  was  prickling  all  over 
in  spite  of  the  cold. 

Suddenly  the  drum  stopped.  I  could  hear  the 
limbs  on  the  trees  across  the  river  rattle.  Then  the 
old  medicine-man  begun  to  pray  to  the  Bear: 

"Lend  us  your  strength,  0  Wah-ki-oose !  Give 
our  warriors  power  to  slay  those  who  made  war 
upon  our  fathers!  Hear  me!  Hear  me!  Hear 
me  and  be  with  us !"  His  voice  shook  with  earnest- 
ness. The  men,  crowded  together  and  waiting  for 
the  fight,  seemed  to  be  held  closer  by  the  grip  of  the 
prayer.  My  muscles  tightened  more.  I  wanted  the 
row  to  commence.  But  the  wind  shrieked,  and  like 
it  was  jeering  at  Black  Bear's  earnestness,  the 
owl's  voice  come  again  from  over  the  icy  water. 

Mac  stood  up  and  with  his  hand  tense  on  my 
arm,  whispered,  "By  gar !  dat's  bad  wan,  dat  howl ! 
Somebody  is  die  now.  Somebody  dat  is  'ere  wid 
us,  beeg  warrior!"  But  directly  his  hand  slipped 
from  my  arm  and  his  body  straightened.  "Well, 
can'  be  help',"he  said.  "Do  de  bes'  we  kin,  by  gar !" 

I  heered  a  shot,  faint  and  far  off.  It  sounded 
like  a  whip-lash.  Dad  swung  onto  Eagle  and  pulled 
up  beside  me.  "The  ball  is  open,  son,"  he  said. 
"Stay  close  to  me.  I  might  want  to  say  something 
to  you  in  confidence." 


CHAPTER  XX 

We  was  off,  crossing  the  Marias,  when  the  queer- 
ness  of  his  words  come  to  me.  "Ain't  you  feeling 
good,  Dad?"  I  asked  him. 

"Fit  as  a  fiddle,  son;  fit  as  a  fiddle.  But  stay 
close,"  he  says. 

And  I  tried  to  do  it.  Our  party  divided  and 
spread  out  like  a  fan,  all  the  trappers  staying  with 
the  Chief's  men.  We  turned  slightly  towards  the 
north  and  up  the  stream,  while  Left  Hand  with 
nigh  fifty  braves  headed  in  the  direction  of  the 
Teton.  It  was  breaking  day,  and  the  north  wind 
was  whipping  its  way  over  the  plains,  sharp  as  a 
knife.  The  snow  had  nigh  quit  falling,  but  the 
sky  was  black  with  running  clouds.  I  heered  shots, 
a  passel  of  them,  and  saw  three  riderless  hosses  go 
by  on  the  run.  We  met  several  wounded  warriors 
— two  afoot  and  more  on  hossback — coming  back 
towards  the  village,  but  only  one  or  two  of  our 
party  stopped  to  he'p  them.  We  rode  fast  towards 
what  was  going  on  ahead. 

All  of  a  sudden  in  the  dim  light,  we  saw  nigh 
forty  Crees,  dismounted  and  fighting  like  fury, 
with  more'n  a  hundred  Blackfeet  riding  'round 
them  and  closing  in  on  them  at  every  turn.  The 
Crees  was  answering  every  war-whoop  of  their  ene- 
mies, and  whenever  a  Blackfoot  saddle  was  emp- 
tied, they  jeered  and  danced  about  like  crazy  men. 
But  they  was  in  a  mighty  bad  fix.  We  lashed  our 
hosses,  but  they  didn't  seem  to  go  fast.  I  felt  like 
it  would  all  be  over  with  before  we  got  there. 

But  the  Blackfeet  was  so  keen  to  wipe  them  out 

180  " 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        181 

that  they  didn't  see  us,  or  if  they  did,  they  didn't 
quit.  When  we  wa'n't  two  hundred  yards  away, 
they  charged  straight  at  the  Crees  and  rode  them 
down.  But  directly  we  met  up  with  them;  and  I 
lost  Dad  in  the  rucus.  When  the  Blackfeet  turned 
to  run  for  it,  I  saw  him  again.  He  was  riding 
lickety-split  after  an  Injin  on  a  bay  hoss.  Left 
Hand  was  coming  up  with  his  party,  and  the  tables 
was  turned  for  good. 

Away  we  went  in  the  face  of  the  wind.  I  thrilled 
with  the  wildness  of  it.  Now  and  then  a  Cree 
would  pull  up  and  get  down  to  scalp  a  Blackf  oot  or 
turn  out  to  catch  a  hoss ;  but  we  crowded  them  hard, 
till  the  Chief  called  a  halt.  I'll  never  forget  the 
light  that  was  in  his  eyes.  It  would  have  made  an 
old  dog-wolf  look  behind  him,  I  tell  you ! 

I  begun  to  look  for  Dad.  Where  could  he  be? 
Bin  wa'n't  in  sight  neither.  A  fear  layed  hold  of 
me.  I'd  plumb  forget  to  stay  by  Dad  in  the  fight — 
never  thought  of  it  after  the  Blackfeet  turned  to 
run.  I  asked  this  one  and  that  one.  But  nobody 
had  seen  him.  They  was  excited  and  all  talking 
at  once.  Left  Hand  said  Dad  wa'n't  hit  or  he  would 
have  knowed  it;  but  my  heart  was  like  lead  as  we 
turned  back. 

The  women  met  us  and  took  their  dead.  Nine  in 
all.  They  gashed  theirse'fs  with  knives  and  tore 
their  hair  from  their  heads  in  handfuls  and  their 
wailing  was  dreadful  to  hear.  But  the  warriors 
hung  many  fresh  scalps  in  their  lodges  and  rode 
about  the  village  singing  war-songs;  while  the  wo- 
men wailed  and  the  dogs  howled.  The  confusion — 
and  it  was  confusion  now  that  the  fight  was  over — 
was  enough  to  unsettle  a  person.  I  started  for  the 
stockade  to  find  Dad. 


182        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

On  the  way  I  met  him.  He  was  afoot.  His  face 
was  white  and  his  lips  was  blue  and  drawn.  I  got 
down  off  my  hoss.  A  lump  come  into  my  throat. 
"Are  you  hit,  Dad?"  I  asked,  my  voice  shaking  like 
a  scared  girl's. 

"Yes,  son,  they  got  me.  I  knowed  they  would, 
someway.  Let's  be  jiggin'.  Where's  Bill?"  he  says. 

We  turned  back  to  the  stockade.  I  hadn't  seen 
any  one  of  our  own  party,  not  one,  and  I  went  wab- 
bly all  over.  "Bill  will  be  along  directly,  Dad,"  I 
says,  hoping  he'd  forget. 

In  the  lodge  he  sat  down  and  asked  for  water. 
He  drank  hungrily  and  then  stretched  himse'f  on  a 
robe.  "Better  build  a  little  fire,  son.  An'  ye'll  find 
some  paper  an'  a  quill  an'  ink  in  that  black  mule's 
pack  by  the  door,"  he  says.  "I'll  want  ye  to  put 
down  in  writin'  some  things  I  want  to  say." 

If  a  giant  had  clutched  me  by  the  throat  I  couldn't 
have  choked  up  worse.  But  I  kindled  a  fire  and  got 
out  the  things  he  wanted. 

"Here  we  go,  son,"  he  says  when  the  fire  crackled 
up  good.  "Mouth  of  the  Marias  River.  Put  that 
down,  son;  and  date  it  December  twentieth,  or 
twenty-fifth,  eighteen  twenty-two." 

I  wrote  it  down  at  the  top  of  a  sheet  of  paper, 
looking  up  when  I'd  finished. 

"I,  Washington  Lamkin,"  he  says,  "bein'  in  my 
right  mind  an'  knowin*  I'm  about  to  die " 

"No,  Dad !"  I  says.  "Ye  can't  die !  Where  are  ye 
hit,  Dad?" 

"Son,"  he  says,  "I'm  bleedin'  inside,  bad.  An 
arrow  got  me  in  the  charge.  I  pulled  it  out,  but 
I'm  goin'  under.  Now  hush  an'  put  down  what  I 
say.  — bein'  about  to  die — got  that?" 

"Yes,"  I  says;  but  my  eyes  was  hot  and  blurred. 
I  wished  Bill  and  Mac  would  come  in. 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        183 

" want  to  tell  all  concerned  that  I  shot  an' 

killed  Caley  Byers  at  Dan's  Clearin' " 

"How  could  that  be  true !  You  think  you're  he'p- 
ing  me,"  I  says.  "Oh,  Dad,  I  didn't  shoot  Caley — " 

"Son,  I'm  he'pin'  the  truth  by  tellin'  it.    Put  it 

down  like  I  say.    nigh  Coon  Creek  Crossin'  on 

July  sixth  of  this  year,  eighteen  twenty-two.  An' 
thet  I  done  it  fer  causes  well  known  in  Kentucky 
where  both  me  an'  him  was  born.  Knowin'  myse'f 
to  be  dyin',  I'm  glad  I  done  it.  Amen. 

"This  confession  will  also  serve  as  an  order  on 
Shipman  and  Company  of  St.  Louis  to  pay  over  to 
my  pardner,  Elijah  Mounts,  nine-hundred  dollars 
that  they  are  keeping  for  me,  to  have  as  his  own. 
An'  know  all  men  that  Elijah  Mounts,  my  pardner 
is  to  have  an'  own " 

Mac  burst  into  the  lodge.  "Bill,  she's  die  hon  de 
Hinjin  fight!"  he  cried.  Then,  seeing  Dad,  his 
voice  sunk  to  a  whisper.  "Oh,  by  gar!  Me,  HI'm 
bad  sorry  now,  me." 

Dad  smiled  and  raised  up  on  his  elbow.  For  a 
minute  he  didn't  speak,  and  his  eyes  was  far-away 
and  rested,  like.  "We  hev  been  pardners  fer  more'n 
ten  years,"  he  said  softly,  "an'  we've  both  gone 
under  together.  Amen." 

Then  he  layed  down.  "Mac,"  he  said,  even,  and 
sure  as  ever,  "git  Alex  an'  Jake  as  quick's  ye  kin." 

Mac  hurried  back  to  the  village,  and  Dad,  as 

though  he  hadn't  been  interrupted,  went  on :  " 

the  outfit  of  hosses  an'  mules  an'  all  goods  an'  arms 
belongin'  to  me  an'  my  ol'  pardner,  Bill  Hanks,  him 
bein*  dead  without  kin.  Amen.  I'll  sign  it,  son." 
And  he  wrote  "Washington  Lamkin"  under  what 
I'd  put  down. 

"Gi*  me  another  drink  of  water,  son.    Best  quit 


184        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

this  life,  if  ye  kin.  I  never  could ;  but  we're  all  hell- 
bent to  advise  others  to  do  what  we  cain't  do  our- 
se'fs.  Son,  I  saw  ye  when  ye  pulled  off  yer  boot  to 
git  out  the  kernel  o'  co'n  that  day  in  Dan's  Clearin'. 
An*  agin  I  saw  ye  when  ye  come  back  with  the  grist. 
I  was  waitin'  behind  a  down-tree  to  collect  a  debt 
from  Caley  Byers.  Caley  Byers  was  a  snake  that 
needed  killin' ;  but  he  left  our  parts  an'  'twas  years 
afore  I  located  him.  Every  word  that  or  nigger 
told  about  him  an*  the  Sessionses  was  true,  an*  Lucy 
Ann  Sessions  was  blood-kin  to  me.  That  fool  squir- 
rel that  barked  at  me  made  ye  cur'ous,  an'  I  was 
some  feered  ye'd  come  over  to  me.  But  ye  didn't." 

He  turned  over  on  his  side  and  was  quiet  a  spell. 
My  mind  had  took  in  what  he'd  said.  But  it  didn't 
seem  to  feel  it.  It  seemed  like  I'd  knowed  he  killed 
Caley  Byers  for  a  hundred  years. 

When  he  spoke  again  his  voice  shook  a  little  and 
wa'n't  so  strong.  "Son,"  he  says,  "ye're  a  boy  yit; 
an'  if  ye  do  the  thing  thet's  in  yer  mind,  ye  kin 
never  go  back  to  the  States.  I  don't  say  it's  wrong 
to  do  it,  but  society  hes  made  trails  thet  every- 
body must  f  oiler,  or  the  mob  will  hoot.  Custom,  in 
its  frills  an'  furbelows,  is  a  heap  like  a  bell-mare  to 
the  mob;  an'  bogs  of  cussedness  don't  keep  it  from 
follerin'  wherever  she  leads.  The  blood  of  the 
human  race'll  mix,  but  the  deer  an'  the  antelope 
won't  cross.  When  the  blood  of  the  whiteman  is 
mixed  with  thet  of  the  red  people,  the  get  is  an 
Injin  in  most  ways ;  an'  they  might  as  well  look  f  er 
chiny  plates  at  an  Injin  feast  as  charity  among  the 
kind  of  their  fathers.  We're  a  bad  lot — a  mighty 
bad  lot,  in  some  ways,  son." 

Mac  raised  the  lodge  door  and  come  in,  with 
Alex  and  Jake.  "Howdy,"  said  Dad,  lifting  his 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        185 

hand  a  little.  "Sign  this  paper,  or  make  yer  marks 
on  it,  as  witnesses,  both  of  ye,  Alex  an*  Jake.  An* 
Mac  see  thet  the  boy  don't  git  into  bad  company. 
He'll  pay  ye  what  I  owe  ye. 

"Hear  me,  son?" 

"Yes,  Dad,"  I  says;  but  I  couldn't  look  at  him  to 
save  me. 

"I  want  ye  to  bury  me  here,  but  not  inside  the 
stockade,  boys,"  he  says,  after  I'd  give  him  another 
drink,  my  hands  shaking — nigh  as  weak  as  him. 
"I  don't  want  no  fence  around  me.  I  want  to  lay 
out  where  all  the  wild  kind  kin  walk  over  me  an* 
around  me  without  suspectin'  that  an  ornery  ol' 
killer  is  there.  Fix  me  so's  the  wolves  won't  scatter 
my  bones,  an'  ye  better  put  Bill  in  with  me.  He  was 
a  good  pardner ;  none  better." 

He  quit  talking  sudden  and  turned  over.  I  took 
hold  of  his  hand  and  he  pressed  mine.  "I'm  goin' 
across  now,  son;  goin'  under  at  last.  It's  gettin' 
dark,  like,  an'  chill." 

He  didn't  speak  again  but  let  my  hand  go  and 
folded  his  arms  across  his  breast  and  closed  his 
eyes.  I  couldn't  keep  the  tears  back  no  longer.  I 
knowed  he  was  dead  and  that  his  spirit  had  gone 
out  on  the  wind  to  the  great  wild  plains  he'd  loved 
so  long  and  well.  I  covered  my  head  with  a  buifalo 
robe  and  tried  to  keep  back  any  sounds  of  sobs,  that 
I  knowed  was  womanlike  and  weak.  Alex  and  Jake 
went  silent  out  of  the  lodge,  but  Mac  spread  a 
blanket  over  Dad  and  put  a  stick  on  the  fire. 

My  mind  was  numb,  like  when  you're  half  awake, 
and  I  didn't  care  what  happened  to  me.  I  wouldn't 
have  dodged  an  arrow  to  save  myse'f .  Mac  knowed 
how  I  felt,  I  reckon,  and  didn't  talk,  but  only  put 
sticks  on  the  fire  while  the  daylight  got  grayer,  till 
it  finally  faded  out. 


186        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

The  wind  wa'n't  nigh  so  strong  as  it  had  been. 
It  had  gone  down  some  with  the  sun,  so  that  the 
lodge-poles  didn't  strain  and  creak  any  more;  but 
the  women  was  still  wailing  awful  and  the  firelight 
flickered  lonesome  on  the  lodge  wall,  like  it  always 
does  when  the  fire  is  low.  I  dreaded  the  morning 
more'n  anything  else.  It  seemed  awful  to  bury  Dad 
and  go  away  from  there.  My  face  was  turned  to- 
wards the  lodge  wall  and  the  fire  had  burned  down 
pretty  low.  A  prowling  Injin  dog  looking  for 
scraps,  poked  his  cold  nose  under  the  lodge-skin 
and  touched  my  face.  Any  other  time  I'd  have 
jumped  mighty  pert;  but  it  didn't  faze  me.  I  set 
up  and  turned  towards  the  fire. 

Mac  put  on  another  stick.  "I  will  go  now,  but  I 
will  soon  come  back,"  he  said  in  Cree. 

The  lodge-door  lifted  and  fell  behind  him  and  I 
turned  my  back  to  the  fire  and  the  form  under  the 
blanket  and  layed  down  again  to  think. 

What  ought  I  to  do?  Dad  was  dead,  and  Bill.  I 
was  alone  again  and  in  a  worse  fix  than  ever.  Dad 
had  been  more  like  a  father  to  me  than  Uncle  Eldin, 
even,  and  I'd  have  died  for  him;  but  he  was  gone. 
I  hated  the*  plains — the  storms  and  the  heat  of  sum- 
mer on  the  treeless  waste.  I'd  leave  it  and  go  back. 
It  was  no  place  for  a  whiteman — the  great  plains, 
hard  and  merciless  and  ugly.  I  had  thought  I 
loved  them;  but  now  I  knowed  it  was  only  Dad  I 
had  loved.  He  was  the  plains  to  me — all  that  was 
worth  while  and  good  about  them.  And  now  he  was 
gone,  it  seemed  like  more  than  half  of  me  was  dead 
and  like  I  hadn't  any  more  place  on  the  plains.  I 
wa'n't  like  Eagle  who  had  lost  his  place  but  directly 
would  become  the  servant  of  another  man.  There 
wouldn't  be  another  man  for  me  to  foller  and  to 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER         187 

make  me  the  man  I'd  thought  I  was.  I  hated  the 
plains  and  blamed  them. 

I  begun  to  think  of  the  only  other  place  I'd 
knowed,  the  clearing  on  Coon  Creek.  I  thought  of 
the  peace  and  quiet  there,  forgetting  how  poor  we 
was  and  remembering  the  neighbors,  one  after  an- 
other. Then  I  thought  of  Caley  Byers  and  how  it 
was  Dad  that  killed  him.  I  reckoned  murder  did 
out ;  but  like  he'd  said,  all  killings  wa'n't  murders. 

I  tried  to  forget  the  plains  and  promised  myse'f 
to  leave  them.  But  the  wailing  cries  of  the  women 
down  by  the  river  wouldn't  let  me  forget.  They 
belonged  to  the  plains — was  like  them,  savage  and 
ungodly. 

I  wouldn't  have  anything  more  to  do  with  Red 
Robe's  daughter.  I'd  go  back.  I'd  start  right 
away,  too.  I  made  up  my  mind  to  that.  I  would 
buy  me  a  place — the  old  Lacey  place  on  Coon  Creek 
— and  settle  down  there  where  there  was  peace  and 
people  of  my  own  kind  and  kin. 

That's  what  I  thought;  but  all  the  time  I  was 
more'n  half  afraid  I  wouldn't  do  it.  I'd  reason  it 
out  over  and  over  again,  but  every  time  I  come  to  a 
decision — the  same  one — I  felt  like  something  was 
left  plumb  out  of  my  calculation.  I  knowed  that 
love  of  the  plains  is  a  disease,  and  that  Dad  had  it 
bad.  Mebby  I  had  it,  too,  and  couldn't  get  away. 

It  was  snowing  hard.  The  fine  flakes  fell  through 
the  smoke-hole  on  my  cheek  and  powdered  the  buf- 
falo robes.  Outside  it  was  growing  stiller  and 
colder  and  the  women  had  nigh  quit  their  crying 
down  by  the  river.  I  heered  the  door  raise  and  fall 
back  and  saw  a  shadow  on  the  lodge  wall;  but  I 
didn't  move  till  long  afterward,  when  the  fire  was 
mighty  nigh  out  and,  being  chilled,  I  sat  up  and  put 
some  wood  on  the  coals. 


188        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

The  dry  sticks  crackled  and  blazed  up ;  and  there 
beside  the  fire,  still  steaming  in  the  chill  air  of  the 
lodge,  I  saw  a  brass  kettle.  I  could  smell  the  meat 
and  dried  berries  that  was  in  it.  But  I  didn't  want 
to  eat.  I  stood  up  to  shake  the  snow  from  a  robe 
to  spread  over  me;  and  on  a  rawhide  right  by  the 
door,  I  saw  the  outline  of  a  moccasin — just  the  dim 
lines  left  by  the  fine  snow  that  had  fallen  from  a 
foot  when  it  was  set  inside.  It  wasn't  all  there — I 
mean  some  of  the  line  was  melted;  but  it  was  too 
little  to  be  Mac's. 

I  wrapped  the  buffalo  robe  around  me  and  sat 
down.  Could  it  be  that  Bluebird  had  come  into  the 
lodge  and  that  the  shadow  I  had  seen  on  the  lodge 
wall  was  hers?  It  must  be.  There  wa'n't  no  doubt 
that  the  foot-print  was  hers.  I  leaned  over.  It  was 
dimming.  The  heat  of  the  fire  was  melting  the 
snow  till  only  a  wet  outline  showed  where  the  toe 
had  been,  though  the  heel  was  nigh  perfect  yet.  I 
watched  it  melt  slowly  away  until  it  was  gone  and 
only  a  wet  spot  marked  the  rawhide  where  the  al- 
most perfect  track  had  been.  I  put  more  wood  on 
the  fire  and  layed  down. 

It  was  good  of  her  to  fetch  the  kettle;  mighty 
good  and  kind.  She  must  have  thought  me  ornery 
and  impolite  not  to  have  said  a  "howdy"  to  her. 
She  was  a  good  little  woman.  Mac  had  said  so,  but 
I  could  tell  it  without  that.  Anybody  could  have 
seen  it  in  her  face.  And  she  was  sweet  and  pretty 
and  gentle.  I  fell  to  planning  on  talking  to  her; 
till  I  thought  of  Dad  again.  And  then  I  felt  mean 
and  ornery  for  thinking  of  her  when  he  was  dead 
just  across  the  fire.  I  felt  ashamed.  I  told  myself 
I  was  a  trifling  nigger  and  once  my  mind  got  on 
that  trail  it  pestered  me  worse'n  it  had  when  Joe 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        189 

died.  It  got  so  set  on  showing  me  up  to  myse'f  that 
I  wa'n't  right  with  Bluebird  in  my  thoughts.  And 
then  I  got  ashamed  of  it  and  that  throwed  in  with 
the  other  and  helped  torment  me. 

I  was  right  glad  when  Mac  come  back,  and  I  said 
"How"  to  him. 

"Whose  kettle  is  this?"  he  said,  raising  the  lid. 
"Ho !  it  is  Red  Robe's  kettle.  Bluebird  has  brought 
you  food,  and  you  have  not  eaten."  He  set  the  ket- 
tle on  the  fire.  "She  will  believe  that  you  cared  not 
for  her  food,"  he  said.  "You  must  eat  of  the  meat 
and  berries." 

"I  am  not  hungry,  Little  Knife,"  I  answered  in 
Cree.  He  had  spoken  in  that  tongue  and  seemed  to 
want  me  to  talk  it,  too. 

"It  is  well  to  mourn  for  the  dead,  but  not  as 
women  do.  They  have  named  you  Pack  Mah-hee- 
can;  Lone  Wolf;  and  I,  your  friend  who  taught  you 
Cree  words,  would  have  you  throw  off  your  robe  of 
sorrow,  or  wear  it  in  the  lodge  or  on  the  plains 
when  you  are  alone.  It  is  well  to  remember  forever, 
but  let  not  your  sorrow  come  between  you  and  a 
living  friend  at  your  own  fire.  And  this  is  now 
your  fire,  Paok  Mah-hee-can."  He  took  the  kettle 
from  the  coals  and  set  it  before  me.  "Eat,"  he 
urged,  "that  when  she  comes  for  her  father's  kettle 
it  will  be  empty." 

I  did  eat  a  little.  And  when  I  had  finished  he 
emptied  the  brass  kettle  into  one  of  our  own. 

"That  is  good,"  he  said,  filling  and  lighting  his 
stone  pipe.  He  offered  the  stem  first  to  the  dark 
sky,  from  which  the  thick  snow  was  falling,  and 
then  to  the  earth,  now  white  with  the  storm.  Then 
he  passed  it  to  me;  and  I  smoked  with  him  there 
in  the  lodge  with  Dad. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

When  morning  come  we  hadn't  slept.  Mac  had 
kept  the  fire  all  night  and  talked  when  I  would 
answer.  My  eyes  was  dry  as  a  powder-horn,  and 
burned  from  looking  into  the  fire.  The  longer  I 
went  without  talking  to  Mac  the  harder  it  seemed 
to  find  a  word  to  say.  The  wind  had  gone  alto- 
gether, and  nigh  the  dawn  even  the  snow  had 
stopped  falling. 

Just  as  the  sunlight  touched  the  tops  of  the  lodge- 
poles  a  soft  voice  called  near  the  door,  "Shall  the 
woman  come  in  now?" 

I  stood  up.  "Yes,  Bluebird,  come,"  I  answered. 
And  Mac  put  wood  on  the  fire. 

She  raised  the  lodge  door,  stopping  a  moment,  at 
the  shrill  cry  of  a  child,  to  look  backward  at  the 
village.  Her  breath  was  white  in  the  cold  air  and 
her  cheeks,  when  she  turned  towards  us,  rosy  with 
health.  "If  you  will  go  away  for  a  little  while," 
she  said,  stepping  in  like  a  shadow,  "I  will  try  to 
make  your  lodge  a  better  place."  She  looked  down 
at  the  fire  and  stooped  to  warm  her  shapely  hands. 

"Come."  Mac  took  me  by  the  hand,  ancl  to- 
gether we  went  outside. 

The  plains  was  an  endless  stretch  of  blinding 
white.  Sparkling  frost-crystals  fell  like  showers  of 
diamonds,  and  mighty  nigh  straight  down  out  of 
the  blue  sky.  The  keen  air  cut  and  stung,  and 
there  wa'n't  a  track  in  the  snow  any  place,  except 
Bluebird's,  leading  up  from  the  village  below  the 
stockade.  The  snow  was  a  foot  deep  and  drifted 
some. 

190 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        191 

Mac  started  up  the  Marias  and  I  followed,  not 
caring  where  we  went,  until  he  stopped  on  top  of  a 
high  knoll.  "Look,  Lone  Wolf,"  he  said,  pointing 
down  to  the  stockade  and  the  Injin  village. 

I  could  see  the  smoke  from  our  lodge  and  the 
lodges  of  the  big  camp  below  it,  white  in  the  cold 
air. 

"This  is  good,"  he  said.  "A  brave  warrior  will 
rest  well  here.  From  this  spot  he  can  see  the  buf- 
falo and  the  antelope.  And  the  rivers  are  nearby 
so  that  in  the  heat  of  summer  hei  can  always  see  the 
green  leaves  rustle  in  the  breeze  that  comes  at  sun- 
down and  with  dawn.  Is  it  not  a  good  place  for  our 
friends?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,"  I  told  him.  But  the  snow  was  cold  and  I 
couldn't  like  the  place. 

"Then  when  the  sun  turns  his  face  toward  the 
South  we  will  bury  our  friends  here." 

I  shivered.  He  begun  to  scrape  away  the  light 
snow  with  his  feet,  and  I  he'ped  him.  "We  had 
better  move  your  lodge  to-night,"  he  said,  as  we 
worked  at  the  snow.  "It  is  not  well  to  be  alone  in 
the  stockade.  We  will  move  your  camp  to  the  village. 
Jake  and  Alex  and  Tom  and  Sandy  are  already 
there." 

Then  he  told  me  some  news  that  made  me  feel 
lonlier'n  ever.  "They  will  not  wait  for  spring,"  he 
says,  "but  in  spite  of  the  danger  of  bad  storms  and 
Blackfeet,  they  are  going  to  try  to  make  their  way 
back  to  the  Post  at  the  mouth  of  the  Yellowstone." 

I  stopped  scraping  snow.  Mac  knowed  what  had 
come  to  my  mind.  "It  is  foolish  to  go  now,"  he 
said.  "We  should  think  much  before  we  go  with 
them.  It  is  not  long  to  wait  till  spring  will  be  here. 


192        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

Then  there  will  be  no  bad  storms.  Do  not  decide 
until  tomorrow." 

I  didn't  answer  him.  We  had  cleared  away 
enough  ground.  "We  shall  have  to  build  a  fire 
here,"  he  said.  "The  ground  is  frozen,  but  not 
deeply.  I  will  have  the  women  build  the  fire.  We 
can  now  go  back  to  the  lodge." 

Bluebird  had  straightened  things  inside  and  had 
a  fire  burning  bright.  The  ashes  and  mess  about 
the  fire  was  gone,  and  the  bed-rolls  tidied  up  nice 
and  tight. 

"Now  you  must  eat,"  she  said  to  me  gently.  "You 
did  not  eat  much  of  the  food  last  night,  but  I  have 
prepared  more.  See,  I  have  made  tea  from  your 
store."  And  she  set  out  the  cups  before  Mac  and 
me,  just  two  of  them. 

"You  will  eat  with  us?"  I  asked  her,  hoping  she 
would. 

"Would  you  have  me  eat?"  she  smiled  shyly;  and 
her  voice  was  like  I'd  heered  it  in  the  store,  soft  and 
kind. 

"Yes,"  I  told  her,  folding  a  robe  between  Mac  and 
me. 

"Then  I  shall,"  she  said,  and  poured  out  three 
cups  of  tea. 

But  that  ended  our  talk,  or  mighty  nigh  it.  As 
soon  as  the  tea  was  poured  and  she'd  sat  down  silent 
between  us,  I  couldn't  find  a  word  to  say  to  her  or 
to  Mac.  She  must  have  thought  I  was  cross,  I 
reckon;  and  it  was  getting  worse,  when  Mac  said, 
"Bluebirds  are  good  in  lodges  or  near  villages.  Ask 
her  to  tell  you  what  her  people  say  of  bluebirds." 

"I  will  ask  her  some  time,"  I  said,  looking  across 
the  fire  at  the  blanket  that  covered  Dad. 

"And  some  time  I  may  tell  you,"  she  smiled. 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        193 

She'd  finished  her  tea  and  stood  up  in  that  swift, 
still  way  that  is  like  a  shadow.  "I  am  going  to  my 
father's  lodge  now,"  she  said. 

The  Crees  was  kind  and  he'ped  us  that  day;  so 
when  night  come  the  grave  on  the  knoll  held  the 
old  pardners  side  by  side.  I  feel  sure  Dad  would 
have  picked  the  place  himse'f,  if  he  could;  for  if 
the  dead  can  see,  him  and  Bill  can  watch  the  buffalo 
herds  and  the  passing  of  war-parties,  till  the  Injins 
shall  quit  their  fighting  forever. 

When  we  come  back  from  the  knoll  the  lodge  had 
been  moved  to  the  village,  and  Mac  and  Jake  and 
Alex  and  Tom  and  Sandy  all  walked  with  me  to 
light  a  fire  in  it  there.  It  was  pitched  between 
Mac's  lodge  and  Red  Robe's  and  all  the  goods  had 
been  piled  inside  so  that  there  wa'n't  much  room 
left  to  sit  or  move  about. 

As  soon  as  the  fire  was  going  good  Alex  says: 
"Me  an'  Jake  is  through  here.  We're  pullin'  out  for 
the  Post  at  the  mouth  of  the  Yellerstone.  Ye're  wel- 
come to  come  along  with  us;  but  if  ye  stay  here 
we'll  trade  what  goods  we've  got  fer  yer  beaver 
skins.  Then  ye  kin  trade  the  goods  for  more  to- 
wards spring." 

"That  is  good,"  said  Mac  to  me  in  Cree.  "I  will 
help  you  trade." 

I  wanted  to  go.  I  had  made  up  my  mind  to  go. 
But  now,  when  the  chance  come,  I  didn't  grab  it. 
"I  reckon  I'll  stay  till  spring,"  I  said;  but  I  didn't 
half  mean  it. 

"Good,"  says  Alex.  "I'd  like  to  trade  fer 
Eagle." 

"No,  sir !"  I  says.  "Eagle  ain't  for  sale  nor  Dad's 
rifle,  at  no  price.  And  I'll  leave  the  other  trading 
to  Mac."  I  couldn't  care  much  what  bargain  was 


194        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

made;  and  I  didn't  know  what  made  me  decide  to 
stay.  But  Mac  was  tickled  a-plenty. 

By  dark  they  had  made  a  bargain  and  I  gave 
Alex  and  Jake  an  order  on  Shipman  and  Company 
for  two  hundred  dollars  of  the  money  Dad  had  left 
me,  wondering  if  they'd  pay  it.  But  Alex  wa'n't 
worried,  nor  Jake,  so  I  made  the  order  and  it  was 
settled. 

I  mighty  nigh  weakened  when  at  daylight  Alex 
and  Jake  pulled  out  with  Tom  and  Sandy.  It  wa'n't 
so  cold  as  it  had  been,  and  I  reckoned  it  would  warm 
up  more  by  noon.  They  didn't  have  any  packs  but 
beaver-skins,  so  the  hosses  waVt  loaded  heavy  and 
could  travel  fast.  I  stood  and  watched  them  start 
away  down  the  Missouri;  and  when  I  thought  that 
there  wa'n't  another  whiteman  between  the  Post 
and  the  mouth  of  the  Marias,  I  mighty  nigh  saddled 
up  and  went  with  them.  But  I  held  onto  myse'f 
now  I'd  decided  to  stay  and  when  they  had  got  out 
of  sight,  went  back  into  the  lodge. 

My  thoughts  was  busy  but  not  good.  I'd  wanted 
so  bad  to  come  to  the  plains.  Now  I  was  far  into 
the  Injin  country,  the  last  of  my  outfit.  Dad  and 
Bill  and  Joe  was  all  dead,  every  one  of  them  killed. 
I  could  see  I  had  a  chance  to  trade  and  make  money, 
and  if  I  did,  I'd  go  back  and  he'p  Aunt  Lib.  I'd 
never  come  to  the  plains  again,  once  I  got  to  civil- 
ization. Aunt  Lib  was  right  about  the  plains,  I 
reckoned.  But  mostly  things  have  to  be  proved  to 
you  before  you'll  believe  them. 

By  and  by  the  sun  come  up  and  shone  through 
the  smoke-hole.  I  wondered  how  far  Alex  and  Jake 
had  got  by  now,  and  if  the  snow  was  deeper  to- 
wards the  Yellowstone.  Mac  had  ridden  out  with 
Jake  and  Alex  to  see  them  off,  and  I  thought  I 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        195 

heered  him  come  back.  Some  women  was  putting 
up  a  lodge  back  of  mine,  and  after  a  spell  I  heered 
Mac's  voice  talking  to  them.  They  was  mighty 
busy  at  something  for  quite  a  stretch;  after  which 
Mac  called,  "Lone  Wolf,  come  to  your  trading  post !" 

I  got  up  and  went  outside.  There  was  a  fine  new 
lodge  pitched  right  back  of  mine.  Mac  was  holding 
up  its  door.  "Go  in,"  he  said,  proudly.  "It's  your 
trading  lodge.  I  bought  it  with  some  goods  that 
belonged  to  you." 

So  I  went  inside  with  him.  It  was  piled  with 
trade-goods — all  of  Alex's  and  Jake's  packs,  and 
some  that  had  been  Dad's.  "You'll  be  rich  now," 
said  Mac,  kindling  a  fire  in  the  new  lodge. 

I  thought  how  kind  he  had  been,  and  how  honest. 
"It  is  half  yours,"  I  said.  "You  are  my  partner, 
Little  Knife.  Let  us  trade  the  goods  and  go  away 
from  here  as  quick  as  we  can.  I  do  not  like  this 
country." 

He  spread  his  hands  before  the  new-made  fire. 
They  was  thin  hands,  and  clever.  "Do  not  say  that, 
Lone  Wolf,"  he  said,  as  though  what  I'd  spoke  about 
the  plains  had  hurt  him.  "Bad  luck  is  everywhere, 
my  friend,"  he  added  in  a  lower  voice,  "and  only 
waits  to  make  war  on  men.  It  is  in  St.  Louis,  and 
on  the  plains,  the  same.  But  whatever  you  will  do 
was  to  be  done.  You  cannot  change  much  of  life, 
though  it  is  not  well  for  us  to  believe  that  so  strong- 
ly as  to  let  our  canoes  drift  and  forget  the  paddles." 
He  put  more  wood  on  the  fire,  making  it  crackle 
cheerful.  "You  have  made  me  happy,"  he  smiled, 
"for  soon  I  shall  be  able  to  buy  fine  presents  for  my 
woman  and  my  children.  Let  us  not  trade  now,  nor 
move.  It  is  not  wise  to  think  of  either.  Let  us  wait 
until  the  Crees  have  many  fine  robes  and  beaver 


196        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

skins.  Then  we  will  trade,  and  when  the  winter 
has  passed,  go  down  to  St.  Louis  with  our  fur." 

He  stood  up  and  walked  around  looking  at  the 
packs  of  trade-goods.  He  moved  a  bale  here  and 
there  and  begun  singing  a  Cree  song  as  he  moved 
about;  until  I  caught  some  of  his  interest.  He  was 
quick  to  see  it,  and  commenced  talking  of  trade  and 
how  many  robes  this  and  that  would  fetch,  until  I 
found  myse'f  figuring  on  what  my  share  would  be. 
I  felt  ashamed  of  it.  It  was  profiting  by  an  awful 
thing;  and  it  pestered  me  like  it  had  when,  I  let 
thoughts  of  Bluebird  come  between  me  and  Dad. 

Mac  kept  talking  and  speculating  till  late  in  the 
day.  I  thought  how  nobody  had  laid  a  hand  on  the 
goods,  unless  they  had  been  asked  to  he'p,  and  no 
thief  had  pilfered.  I  was  mighty  afraid  folks  at 
the  Crossing  wouldn't  have  been  so  careful  of  other 
folks'  truck;  but  I  was  thinking  mostly  of  Jeff 
Hawkins,  I  reckon. 

It  was  getting  dusk  when  Mac  broiled  a  buffalo 
steak  on  the  coals ;  and  we  ate  and  smoked  together 
till  all  the  fires  was  out  in  the  other  lodges.  The 
hunters  had  been  out  all  day,  and  all  through  the 
early  evening  there  had  been  feasting  in  the  village ; 
but  Mac  stayed  with  me,  and  when  at  last  I  un- 
rolled my  bed,  he  went  to  sleep  across  the  fire. 

It  was  a  still  night  and  cold.  I  could  see  Mac's 
breath,  white  in  the  chill  air,  over  the  dying  fire. 
I  didn't  sleep  for  hours.  I  thought  of  Dad  and  Bill, 
and  Alex  and  Jake.  I  wondered  if  the  snow  got 
deeper  towards  the  Yellowstone.  Then  when  I 
thought  of  the  cold  and  the  snow  they  fetched  Dad 
back  to  my  mind  to  stay,  and  I  couldn't  lay  still.  I 
built  up  the  fire,  and  when  Mac  turned  his  back  to 
the  blaze,  I  lit  my  pipe  though  I  knowed  I  didn't 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        197 

want  to  smoke.  The  stillness  was  heavy,  like,  and 
layed  hold  of  me  till  I  was  skittish.  Mac's  breath- 
ing, so  regular  it  seemed  to  belong  to  the  loneliness 
that  was  pestering,  was  the  only  sound — that  and 
the  pop  of  cottonwood  trees  when  the  frost  stabbed 
them  deep.  I  run  back  to  where  I'd  first  met  up 
with  Dad,  and  then  trailed  along  with  him  to  the 
minute  he'd  told  me  of  killing  Caley  Byers — and 
after;  clean  to  the  grave  on  the  knoll.  It  'peared 
like  running  off,  and  leaving  him — to  go  away;  but 
I  knowed  I'd  never  like  the  plains  any  more,  though 
I'd  wait  a  spell. 

At  last  I  layed  down,  and  when  I  turned  over,  I 
heered  the  guard  go  out  to  relieve  the  men  with  the 
stock;  and  that  made  me  think  of  Bluebird  for  a 
spell.  But  I  didn't  hear  the  men  come  in,  nor  I 
didn't  hear  anything  more  until  Mac  kindled  the 
fire  in  the  morning. 

The  water  in  the  camp-kettle  was  froze  hard  as 
a  rock,  and  the  meat,  too.  The  sun  come  up  in  a 
frost-mist,  and  it  took  the  new  fire  quite  a  spell  to 
melt  away  the  white,  feathery  crystals  sticking  to 
the  lodge-poles.  I  turned  over,  and  Mac  begun  to 
sing.  "It's  a  fine  morning,  Lone  Wolf,"  he  said, 
and  went  out  of  the  lodge  for  fresh  water. 

I  followed  him  out,  and  down  to  the  river  where 
he  was  chopping  a  hole  in  the  ice. 

Several  women  was  along  the  bank  with  kettles, 
everybody  cheerful  and  glad  of  the  sun.  Thin  tails 
of  blue  smoke  was  coming  from  the  tops  of  more 
than  a  hundred  lodges,  going  nigh  straight  up  in  the 
winter  air  till  they  was  plumb  lost  in  the  shower 
of  frost  crystals  that  fell  to  meet  and  hide  them. 
The  ice  on  the  river  clugged  and  plunked,  queer- 
like,  and  the  noises  of  its  cracking  went  up  and 


198        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

down  the  stream  like  echoes  do  in  the  bad-lands. 
There  was  a  passel  of  trails  in  the  snow,  mostly 
leading  to  water-holes  chopped  in  the  ice;  and  I 
looked  to  see  her,  but  I  wa'n't  lucky.  Red  Robe's 
lodge  was  close  to  mine,  but  there  wa'n't  a  soul  in 
sight  around  it.  Smoke  was  coming  out  of  it, 
though,  like  all  the  rest,  so  I  knowed  they  was  up 
and  stirring  inside;  and  I  reckoned  they'd  been 
after  water,  likely. 

Everybody  said  "how"  nice  and  friendly  on  the 
way  back  and  some  young  men  who  was  going  out 
to  run  buffalo  asked  us  to  take  a  hand  with  them; 
but  Mac  said  we  was  going  after  antelope  a  little 
later  on. 

After  breakfast  we  got  hosses  and  set  out  along 
the  edge  of  the  river  breaks.  The  light  was  mighty 
bright  and  made  me  blink ;  but  it  wa'n't  long  before 
we  had  what  antelope  we  needed  and  started  back. 
A  breeze  had  come  up  and  was  brushing  the  light 
snow  off  the  quaking  asps  and  cottonwoods  sending 
it  away  in  little  white  swirls  whenever  it  freshened, 
though  there  wa'n't  much  of  it,  noway.  The  wind 
had  blowed  hard  during  the  storm  and  there  had 
been  more  or  less  until  the  night  before,  when  it 
had  died  down  and  some  fresh  snow  had  fallen;  so 
that  it  wa'n't  long  till  the  limbs  was  plumb  bare 
again. 

We  found  the  snow  was  all  tracked  up  in  and 
around  the  village  when  we  got  back.  Women  was 
coming  in  with  packs  of  wood,  and  off  on  the  plains 
I  could  see  some  more  with  travois  loaded  with 
meat.  We  struck  the  river  a  little  above  the  village, 
and  just  as  we  turned  in  between  two  lodges  I  saw 
Bluebird.  She  was  coming  from  the  river  with 
water.  I  got  down  and  led  my  hoss  to  meet  her. 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        199 

She  saw  me  and  turned  into  another  trail ;  but  right 
away  I  noticed  it  would  lead  her  wrong;  and  she 
saw  it,  too,  for  directly  she  turned  back,  and  we 
met  where  the  trail  forked. 

"I  have  hoped  to  see  you,"  I  said,  holding  out  my 
hand. 

She  looked  down  at  the  snow,  and  the  kettle  of 
water  she  was  packing  begun  to  swing  back  and 
forth,  its  bottom  brushing  a  dead  weed  that  stuck 
up  by  the  trail.  She  didn't  offer  to  take  my  hand, 
and  I  couldn't  think  of  anything  to  say.  We  just 
stood  there,  till  I  felt  ashamed  of  pestering  her. 
"Will  you  not  tell  your  father  that  I  would  be  glad 
if  he  would  bring  you  to  call  at  my  lodge?"  I  finally 
said,  and  stepped  aside  so  that  she  could  pass.  "I 
would  give  him  and  you  presents  to  show  my  grati- 
tude for  your  kindness." 

She  slipped  by  me,  and  without  raising  her  eyes 
from  the  trail,  said,  "I  will  tell  your  words  to  my 
father."  Then  she  was  gone. 

I  stood  there  a  minute,  thinking.  Her  head  had 
been  bent  towards  the  snow,  but  turned  a  little  to 
one  side  like  she  didn't  want  me  to  see  the  cheek 
that  was  next  to  me.  The  thin,  bright  red  line 
marking  the  straight  part  in  her  black  hair  was 
fresh-made  and  looked  right  pretty.  And  she  was 
such  a  little  woman  and  spoke  so  soft — though  I'd 
heered  every  word  and  know  them  yet.  I  wondered 
again  how  she  had  made  me  hear  them.  She  hadn't 
spoken  louder'n  a  whisper,  and  yet  there  wa'n't 
anything  like  whispering  about  her  voice — nothing 
that  whispered  words  make  you  think  of — conniv- 
ing, or  the  like.  Every  word  was  clear-sounding 
and  sweet;  yet  after  hearing  them,  you'd  wonder 
how  you  did  it,  even  after  you  knowed  you  had.  I 


200        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

thought  that  I'd  give  a  heap  to  hear  her  talk  for  a 
whole  hour  without  stopping. 

My  hoss  whinned  loud  and  pulled  sudden  on  the 
rope.  He  was  anxious  to  be  with  the  herd.  So  I 
led  him  to  my  lodge  and  unloaded  him.  Mac's  ante- 
lope was  by  the  door,  and  a  fire  was  already  burn- 
ing inside.  I  turned  the  pony  loose  and  lifted  the 
door. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

The  afternoon  was  short.  At  dusk  Mac  went  to 
his  own  lodge  to  spend  the  night  with  his  family. 
I  sat  up  till  late  thinking,  and  I  got  to  fussing  in 
my  mind  over  things  that  had  happened,  till  I  didn't 
want  to  go  to  bed.  The  fire  burned  low  more  than 
half  the  time,  and  I  didn't  have  gumption  enough  to 
feed  it.  It  was  snowing  again.  Flakes  come  down 
through  the  smoke-hole  whenever  the  fire  was  low 
enough  to  let  them  in.  The  camp  noises  settled 
down  to  nothing  and  folks  was  asleep,  all  but  the 
guards  and  the  herders  with  the  stock.  "A  fine 
life !"  I  thought.  "Any  minute  the  Blackf eet  might 
come,  or  a  blizzard  that  would  drive  the  buffalo 
away  and  leave  the  Crees  without  fresh  meat."  It 
was  no  place  for  a  whiteman.  I  made  up  my  mind 
to  that. 

A  dog  was  gnawing  a  bone  just  outside  my  lodge, 
and  it  pestered  me.  I  picked  up  a  stick  of  wood  and 
got  on  my  knees  to  creep  to  the  door  and  drive  him 
off.  But  I  got  ashamed  and  let  him  stay.  He  was 
happy.  I  wouldn't  change  it.  Directly  a  wolf 
howled  up  the  Marias  a  little  piece  and  the  dog 
stopped  gnawing  and  answered.  "That's  it,"  I 
thought.  "You  are  blood-kin." 

Then  I  thought  of  Bluebird.  Was  she  any  re- 
lation to  me  or  my  kind?  I  wished  I  hadn't  asked 
her  to  tell  her  father  to  call  at  my  lodge.  I  would 
persuade  Mac  to  trade  for  whatever  we  could  get, 
and  try  to  make  the  Post  at  the  mouth  of  the  Yel- 
lowstone. Why  was  I  thinking  of  Bluebird?  I 
didn't  want  her.  If  Red  Robe  came  to  my  lodge  I 

201 


202        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

hoped  she  wouldn't  be  with  him.  She  had  been  good 
to  me,  but  I  had  an  idea  Mac  had  been  responsible 
for  her  coming  to  the  lodge  in  the  stockade.  I 
knowed  it  was  Mac's  doings.  She  wouldn't  have 
thought  of  it.  But  I  wanted  to  even  the  score  with 
her,  nevertheless,  so  I'd  send  her  a  present  by  her 
father,  if  he  come.  I'd  let  her  see  that  a  whiteman 
paid  his  debts,  anyhow.  I'd  go  back  to  Coon  Creek 
and  stay  there.  I'd  even  go  and  listen  to  Joshua 
Moulds  of  Sundays,  and  be  glad  of  the  chance.  By 
turns  I  was  angry  at  Mac,  and  grateful  to  him  for 
sending  Bluebird  with  the  kettle  of  meat  and  ber- 
ries, that  night.  For  I  was  sure  it  was  him  that 
did  it.  I  didn't  ask  him  about  it  then,  and  I 
wouldn't  do  it  now.  I'd  rather  have  it  the  way  it  is 
in  my  mind:  mostly  a  guess  that  could  be  settled 
easy.  The  dog  kept  gnawing  the  bone  outside,  his 
teeth  gritting  and  grinding  and  crushing,  till  it 
mighty  nigh  made  me  drive  him  off.  Once  another 
dog  come  nigh  him  and  he  growled  ugly  and  the 
other  dog  went  away.  His  happiness  was  threat- 
ened but  he  defended  and  kept  it.  I  did  wish  he'd 
finish  the  bone,  or  else  pack  it  away  somewhere  and 
enjoy  it  alone. 

That  was  a  night  such  as  comes  once  in  a  while 
to  most  folks.  I'd  been  willing  to  bet  that  I  hadn't 
slept  an  hour ;  but  I  know  that  I  must  have,  for  it 
was  plumb  daylight  when  I  built  up  my  fire  in  the 
lodge.  I  was  glum  yet,  and  the  fresh  snow,  instead 
of  brightening  me  up,  seemed  to  deaden  what  good 
nature  I  had. 

I  went  down  to  the  river,  stepping  in 'tracks  al- 
ready made  by  others.  When  I  was  coming  back  I 
saw  Bluebird  slip  out  of  her  father's  lodge  with  a 
kettle  in  her  hand.  She  was  going  for  water,  but 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        203 

when  she  saw  me  she  ducked  back  into  the  lodge, 
letting  the  door  fall  shut  behind  her.  "Go  it!"  I 
muttered,  and  felt  ornery  as  all  time. 

I  washed  up,  and  broiled  some  meat;  and  when 
Mac  come  in  I  was  in  better  spirits.  But  somehow 
I  couldn't  open  the  question  of  trading  and  getting 
away.  He  was  so  happy  over  our  prospects  that  I 
thought  I'd  wait  a  day  or  two. 

The  sun  didn't  come  out  and  the  clouds  hung  low 
and  looked  threatening,  though  it  wa'n't  very  cold. 
We  slicked  up  the  lodge  and  was  talking,  when  the 
door  was  lifted  and  Red  Robe  looked  in. 

"How!"  he  said,  and  smiled. 

"How,  how!  hi-ee!"  greeted  Mac.  And  I  got  up 
and  spread  a  robe. 

Red  Robe  stepped  into  the  lodge,  and  behind  him 
was  Bluebird.  They  sat  down,  and  right  away 
Mac  lit  a  pipe  and  passed  it  to  me.  "Dis  is  your 
lodge,"  he  said  in  English.  "You'll  mak'  de  smoke 
wid  de  Sun  and  de  Earth.  Den  you'll  pass  de  pipe 
to  heem.  When  she's  troo  smoke,  you'll  spick  first 
an'  tell  heem  you're  glad  por  veesit." 

I  did  like  he  told  me.  When  Red  Robe  had 
smoked  with  us  I  said:  "You  are  welcome  in  this, 
my  lodge.  I  am  made  happy  by  your  coming.  Your 
daughter,  Bluebird,  was  kind  to  me,  and  I  would 
show  my  gratitude  by  making  you  presents." 

I  went  to  the  packs  and  got  Bill's  rifle  and  a  good 
blanket  and  give  them  to  him,  besides  some  powder 
and  balls.  I  never  did  see  such  pleasure  in  a  man's 
face.  He  was  so  tickled  I  was  glad  even  to  watch 
him,  and  when  he  thanked  me  I  felt  good  all  over. 
I  reckoned  that  she  was  as  happy  as  he  was;  but 
when  I  give  her  a  cup  full  of  beads  and  two  mighty 
pretty  blankets,  one  red  and  the  other  green,  for 


204        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

herse'f,  I  wish  you  could  have  seen  her  eyes. 
Cracky !  But  she  didn't  speak  a  word — just  sat  still 
with  the  blankets  beside  her  and  the  cup  of  beads 
in  her  hand. 

Red  Robe  thought  that  was  bad  manners,  I 
reckon,  for  he  said  to  her,  "Have  you  no  words? 
Can  you  not  speak?  Are  you  like  the  stones  that 
drink  the  rain  and  thank  not  the  rain-maker?"  He 
spoke  like  a  man  speaks  to  a  child,  not  ornery  or 
cross. 

She  rose  to  her  knees  and  shot  a  glance  at  me. 
"It  is  too  much  to  give  me,"  she  said.  I  saw  her 
eyes  shine  in  the  firelight,  but  they  wouldn't  look  at 
me;  they  just  dusted  me  with  a  pleasant  look  that, 
like  her  words,  was  only  enough  to  do,  and  nothing 
left  over. 

Right  away  I  remembered  my  thoughts  of  the 
night  before  and  felt  ashamed.  These  was  good 
folks,  even  though  I  didn't  know  their  ways.  We're 
apt  to  get  on  the  wrong  trail  that  way,  comparing 
strangers  with  ourse'fs,  and  mebby  after  we  know 
them  well  we  find  out  that  we  hadn't  so  much  to 
brag  about  after  all. 

Mac  lit  the  pipe  again  and  I  watched  Red  Robe 
as  he  offered  the  stem  to  the  Sun  before  he  smoked, 
himse'f .  You  could  see  that  he  was  a  good  man.  I 
was  sorry  when  he  got  up  to  go ;  and  when  Bluebird 
bent  to  pass  outside,  I  says,  "Some  day  will  you  tell 
me  about  the  bluebirds?  You  said  you  would, 
didn't  you?" 

"I  said  some  day,  maybe,"  she  answered. 

"What  do  you  say  now,  to-day?"  I  said,  low  as  I 
could. 

"Maybe,  some  day,"  she  answered,  and  I  thought 
there  was  laughter  in  her  words;  quiet  laughter 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        205 

that  wa'n't  intended  for  anybody  but  herse'f.  I 
thought  of  her  ducking  back  into  her  father's  lodge 
that  morning  and  felt  like  saying,  "Go  it,"  again, 
but  I  didn't. 

I  was  sorry  I  had  said  anything  about  bluebirds 
— didn't  care  to  learn  about  them,  and  wouldn't 
mention  them  again.  I'd  talk  to  Mac  about  trading 
and  getting  out. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

But  I  didn't  do  that  either.  Mac  begun  to  talk 
about  a  big  buffalo  hunt  the  Crees  was  planning, 
and  even  while  he  was  speaking  I  heeredi  voices 
singing. 

"What's  that?"  I  asked. 

"The  Buffalo  song,"  he  answered.  "Day  after 
tomorrow  they  will  make  a  corral  and  kill  much 
meat." 

We  listened.  There  wa'n't  many  words  to  the 
song;  only  a  tune  that  was  queer,  like  all  their 
music,  and  wild  as  theirse'fs.  It  swelled  up  loud 
a  minute  and  then  died  down  like  the  winds  do,  till 
we  couldn't  hardly  hear  it.  Suddenly  there  come  a 
voice  speaking  in  one  tone,  and  the  singing  stopped 
altogether.  "Black  Bear,"  says  Mac.  But  I  could 
have  told  it. 

The  old  man  was  asking  power  of  the  Bear,  cun- 
ning from  the  Wolf,  and  speed  from  the  Antelope 
for  the  buffalo  hunters. 

"He  owns  a  great  buffalo-stone,"  whispered  Mac, 
while  the  medicine  man  was  talking. 

"What  is  a  buffalo-stone?"  I  says. 

But  he  didn't  tell  me.  "She  will  tell  you,"  he 
says.  "Listen." 

Black  Bear  was  talking  fast.  He  was  speaking 
to  the  winds  now. 

"Oh,  North  Wind,"  he  said,  his  voice  shaking  with 
earnestness,  "wind  that  we  fear,  wind  that  brings 
the  winter  and  holds  it  long;  hear  us,  for  we  are  in 
need.  Rest  while  our  people  go  forth  to  the  herds, 
that  the  buffalo  may  not  be  warned  and  run  away. 

206 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        207 

Your  breath  is  cold,  0  North  wind,  but  we  do  not 
complain,  do  not  grumble  against  you.  Oh,  hear 
us,  hear  us,  hear  us!" 

He  stopped  short,  and  the  singing  commenced 
again,  this  time  with  a  drum.  Then  Black  Bear's 
voice  rose  again,  speaking  to  the  East  wind.  "0 
great  wind  that  knows  the  Sun,  that  so  often  comes 
with  him  to  the  world  in  summer,  hear  us  now,  for 
we  are  hungry.  Stay  in  your  lodge.  Do  not  visit 
the  plains  when  our  people  seek  the  buffalo,  for  thy 
breath  goes  fast  and  far." 

When  he  stopped  the  song  commenced  again,  the 
drum  sounding  hollow  and  deep.  I  felt  creepy  all 
over.  I  wanted  to  see  the  singers. 

"Can  we  not  go  into  the  lodge  with  them,  Little 
Knife?"  I  asked. 

"Yes,  come,"  he  said,  and  we  went  out  into  the 
snow.  The  sun  hadn't  shone  all  day  and  snow  was 
falling  slow,  like  it  had  a  notion  to  quit  and  clear  up. 

Nobody  paid  any  attention  to  us  when  we  went 
into  the  lodge  and  sat  down  near  the  door.  The 
music  stopped  and  Black  Bear  stood  up  facing  the 
South.  Sweat  stood  out  on  his  forehead  and  his 
eyes  burned  like  a  man's  with  fever  on  him.  He 
begun  to  chant:  "Oh,  soft  wind,  Oh,  gentle  wind, 
Oh,  wind  that  all  the  people  love,  that  brings  the 
grass  and  the  flowers,  your  breath  is  sweet  with  the 
perfume  of  things  whose  lives  are  short  and  beauti- 
ful. The  flowers  make  you  presents  as  you  pass, 
until  you  can  carry  no  more.  Do  not  blow!  Do 
not  visit  the  plains  now,  where  the  North  wind  has 
set  his  lodge,  lest  his  breath  drive  you  off  and  for 
long.  Help  us  by  your  silence!"  His  voice  was 
low;  but  it  lost  none  of  its  earnestness  when  he 
added,  "Help  us  by  staying  away?  0  South  wind !" 


208        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

They  sung  longer  than  before,  and  when  they 
quit  the  old  man  turned  to  the  west.  "Oh,  West 
wind,"  he  prayed,  "Oh,  strong  wind,  Oh,  wind  that 
sleeps  with  the  Sun ;  wait  until  the  North  wind  has 
piled  the  snow  in  the  coulees.  Do  not  send  your 
strong  breath  to  the  plains  now,  lest  the  buffalo  be 
told  that  we  are  coming  to  kill  them.  Our  people 
need  meat.  Do  not  tell  the  buffalo.  Do  not  betray 
us,  0  West  wind  I" 

He  sat  down,  plumb  tired  out,  and  they  sung  a 
song  to  the  West  wind,  the  music  loud  and  soft  by 
turns — a  heap  like  the  wind,  I  thought. 

"We  will  go  now/'  said  Mac. 

Back  in  the  lodge  he  told  me  that  there  would  be 
a  buffalo-dance  on  the  next  day  and  that  if  their 
medicine  was  good  they  would  have  many  robes  to 
trade  soon.  He  didn't  go  to  his  own  lodge,  nor  we 
didn't  sit  up  late.  I  had  made  up  my  mind  that  I 
wouldn't  urge  trading  until  after  the  big  hunt,  any- 
way, and  fell  to  thinking  of  Bluebird.  But  it  didn't 
keep  me  awake;  for  before  the  fire  was  out  I  was 
asleep. 

When  we  went  down  to  the  river  in  the  morning 
men  was  parading  about  the  village  wearing  head- 
dresses made  of  buffalo  hair,  buffalo  heads  with 
horns  and  all  left  on,  or  bonnets  made  of  tails. 
They  danced  about  and  chanted  songs.  One  man 
wore  the  head  of  a  large  buffalo  bull  that  looked 
almost  fresh-killed,  it  was  so  real  and  life-like. 
They  didn't  talk  to  us  nor  pay  any  attention  when 
we  met  them ;  and  all  through  the  day  till  sundown 
they  kept  moving  about,  wearing  something  on 
their  heads  made  of  buffalo  hair  or  hides.  Then  at 
night  they  danced  till  late,  and  it  was  a  sight. 

The  weather  had  warmed  up  considerable  and  the 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        209 

snow  had  settled  down  so  that  there  wa'n't  more 
than  a  foot  of  it  on  the  level,  though  in  the  coulees 
it  was  drifted  bad.  I  was  as  anxious  to  see  the  hunt 
as  I  could  be,  and  hoped  that  the  morning  would 
suit  the  hunters. 

We  was  up  before  daylight,  and  no  wonder. 
Everybody  was  up.  The  camp-crier  went  about 
telling  of  the  hunt  and  saying  the  day  would  be 
fine.  Mac  took  his  lance  and  his  bow  and  arrows 
and  we  set  out  with  mighty  nigh  every  able  man  in 
the  village,  before  it  was  light  enough  to  see  good. 
And  the  women — a  passel  of  them — come  along,  too, 
and  some  half -grown  children,  all  packing  old  robes 
and  axes.  You'd  think  they  was  moving  to  see  the 
stuff  they  had ;  but  I  soon  learned  that  every  bit  was 
needed. 

After  an  hour's  travel  up  the  river  we  come  to  a 
big  grove  of  cottonwoods  growing  on  the  edge  of 
the  plains,  from  where,  as  the  sun  come  out  of  a 
cloud  on  the  eastern  horizon  we  saw  a  herd  of  buf- 
falo not  more'n  half  a  mile  away. 

Everybody  knowed  what  to  do.  They  begun  to 
slash  brush  and  pull  down-timber  out  of  the  snow. 
In  no  time  they  had  built  a  flimsy  corral,  using  any- 
thing for  its  sides,  even  old  buffalo  robes  and  wil- 
lows. It  wouldn't  have  held  a  hoss  a  minute;  but 
though  I  didn't  scarcely  believe  in  it,  I  he'ped  them 
them  make  it. 

The  cottonwood  grove  was  a  little  lower  than  the 
plains.  I  mean  there  was  a  bank  that  dropped  down 
about  three  or  four  feet  where  the  plains  met  the 
trees  in  the  cottonwood  bottom — quite  a  jump-off 
it  was.  They  built  a  wall  against  the  bank,  making 
the  side  of  the  corral  of  logs,  too,  so  they  could 
place  more  logs  from  the  wall  to  the  corral's  side, 


210        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

like  the  bottom  of  a  bridge.  This  approach  wa'n't 
more  than  six  feet  long.  Anything  crossing  the  ap- 
proach, or  bridge  bottom,  would  either  have  to 
jump  down  about  four  feet  or  turn  and  go  back; 
but  of  all  the  miserable-constructed  things  I  ever 
saw  it  was  sure  the  worst.  If  they  ever  managed 
to  get  a  buffalo  into  the  corral  I  figured  he'd  go 
right  through  it.  I  told  Mac  it  wouldn't  hold  a  rab- 
bit. But  he  says,  "Wait  and  see.  The  buffalo,"  he 
says,  "will  not  touch  the  sides  when  once  they  are 
in  the  corral.  They  always  go  around  and  around 
in  one  direction  until  the  last  one  is  dead.  They  go 
as  the  sun  goes.  It  is  always  so.'" 

Everybody  had  been  careful  to  stay  in  the  grove, 
and  while  they  wa'n't  over-careful  about  noise  they 
didn't  do  much  talking  and  didn't  pound  any  more 
than  they  had  to.  But  now  some  men,  each  packing 
willows,  walked  out  onto  the  plain,  the  party 
spreading  out  V-shaped  from  the  corral-bridge. 
When  the  outer  ends  of  the  V  had  gone  the  right 
distance,  the  men  layed  down  behind  the  willows 
they  had  been  packing  so  the  willows  formed  wings 
to  the  corral.  It  seemed  like  they  was  flimsy  make- 
believes  which  wouldn't  likely  fool  a  buffalo. 

As  soon  as  the  men  with  the  willows  had  layed 
down  we  all  hid  behind  trees  and  bushes.  The  wind 
was  still.  Black  Bear's  medicine  was  good.  Not  a 
breath  was  stirring. 

"Look,"  whispered  Mac  by  my  side. 

A  man  had  popped  up  like  a  jumping-jack  direct- 
ly in  front  of  the  herd.  He  was  wearing  a  buffalo 
head-dress,  and  though  he  was  more  than  half  a 
mile  away,  I  guessed  it  was  the  big  bull's-head  bon- 
net I'd  seen  the  day  before.  "Bad  Weasel,"  whis- 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        211 

pered  Mac.  "He  owns  a  great  buffalo-stone.  He  is 
the  buffalo-man.  Watch  him." 

"What  is  a  buffalo-stone?"  I  asked,  parting  the 
bushes  to  see  better. 

"She  will  tell  you,"  he  says.    "Look!" 

The  buffalo  had  noticed  the  man.  A  cow,  curious, 
had  walked  a  step  or  two  towards  him  and  stopped, 
sniffing.  The  man  begun  to  dance.  The  cow  moved 
nearer.  And  then  others  of  the  herd  noticed  and 
stopped  grazing.  The  cow  advanced  a  little  more, 
and  there  was  a  general  movement  in  the  herd. 
More  than  five  hundred  buffalo  was  looking  at  Bad 
Weasel!  I  thought  I'd  rather  be  where  I  was  than 
out  on  the  plains  with  him.  But  he  turned  his  back 
to  the  herd  and  danced  towards  us,  hopping  about 
and  even  getting  down  on  his  knees  sometimes.  A 
dozen  cows  and  a  big  bull  was  walking  towards  him 
now,  and  I  could  hear  the  people  muttering.  They 
was  growing  excited.  I  turned  to  whisper  to  Mac; 
and  when  I  looked  again  Bad  Weasel  was  gone. 

"Where  is  he?"  I  asked. 

"Hid  in  a  little  coulee.    Watch!" 

Mac  got  to  his  knees  and  was  breathing  hard. 
The  buffalo  had  stopped.  The  whole  herd  was 
bunched  and  looking  for  the  strange  object  that  had 
been  near  them.  They  was  restless  and  ready  to 
stampede.  It  was  a  ticklish  moment,  and  the  peo- 
ple was  fretting.  Directly  I  saw  Bad  Weasel  rise 
out  of  the  snow,  still  in  front  of  the  herd,  but  closer 
to  the  corral.  He  danced  and  the  herd  started  to- 
wards him.  He  begun  to  trot,  awkwardly  towards 
us,  half -dancing.  The  buffalo  come  faster,  and  Bad 
Weasel  ran. 

The  stampede  was  on.  They  was  coming.  I 
prickled  all  over.  Mac  had  hold  of  my  arm  and 


212        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  rTRAPPER 

squeezed  hard.  Bad  Weasel  was  running  for  his 
life.  It  seemed  like  the  herd  would  trample  him  to 
shreds.  He  couldn't  hope  to  out-run  the  buffalo. 
I  seemed  to  be  in  his  place.  I  could  feel  the  hot 
breath  of  the  big  bull  on  my  back.  I  struggled  to 
my  feet,  but  Mac  pulled  me  down.  "Be  still!"  he 
whispered. 

Bad  Weasel  was  near  to  the  willow  wings.  I 
hoped  the  men  behind  them  was  going  to  save  him. 
But  even  as  I  looked  he  was  gone.  Only  the  herd 
was  coming,  running  straight  over  the  unmarked 
snow. 

Nobody  moved  nor  spoke.  The  herd  had  entered 
the  V  and  was  between  the  willow  wings,  running 
blind  and  fast.  As  it  passed  them  the  willow  men 
raised  up  with  their  willows,  yelling,  and  sending 
the  stampeded  buffalo  even  faster  towards  the  cor- 
ral, till  they  tumbled  into  it,  one  against  the  other. 
The  ones  behind  crowded  the  leaders  into  the  trap, 
and  right  away  the  corral  was  a  milling  mass  of 
brown  bodies,  so  thick  that  there  wa'n't  room  for 
another  one.  The  willow-men  had  split  the  herd, 
someway,  and  turned  part  away.  There  wa'n't  no 
need  of  care  now.  Everybody  was  talking  and 
everybody  was  killing  buffalo.  Strong  bows  sent 
arrows  into  the  big  bodies  so  that  the  shafts  some- 
times stuck  through  them.  I  saw  men  reach  in  and 
even  jump  in  the  corral  and  push  arrows  deeper 
with  their  hands. 

Round  and  round,  over  the  dead  bodies  of  others, 
the  buffalo  ran,  never  once  touching  the  corral — 
unless  they  was  crowded  against  it — and  traveling 
as  the  sun  does,  like  Mac  said.  They  never  changed 
their  course  nor  stopped,  till  the  last  was  dead,  or 
down  to  die.  They  stumbled  blind  and  without 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        213 

sound  over  the  dead  bodies  of  their  fellows  till  the 
last,  an  old  bull,  crazed  and  gored  with  lances  and 
even  knives  lashed  to  poles,  fell  panting  upon  the 
carcass  of  another  bull  as  big  as  himse'f. 

It  was  all  over  with.  Blood  was  everywhere  and 
all  over  everybody.  The  snow  was  awful  to  look  at, 
all  tracked  and  trampled  and  full  of  red  puddles  for 
more  than  twenty  feet  from  the  corral.  I  wanted 
to  get  away  from  it;  so  as  soon  as  the  butchering 
commenced  Mac  and  I  with  four  nice  tongues,  left 
the  place  to  the  butchers. 

No  part  of  the  meat  was  wasted.  Even  the  en- 
trails was  taken  for  use  and  heads  and  legs  was 
prized.  Travois-loads  of  meat  come  to  the  village 
for  three  days,  and  there  was  feasting  for  four 
nights.  And  all  through  the  winter  the  camp  dogs 
kept  a  trail  open  to  the  buffalo-corral,  where  they 
had  many  a  meal,  and  scores  of  battles  among 
theirse'fs. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

We  broiled  fat  buffalo  steaks  like  Dad  had  done 
till  we  couldn't  eat  no  more ;  and  there  was  a  lot  of 
good  robes  in  the  kill  that  would  come  to  us  in 
trade.  Even  the  village  dogs  grew  fat  and  sleek; 
and  every  day  hunters  fetched  in  more  meat  for  the 
camp  needed  much,  and  the  women  dried  it  as  fast 
as  it  come  to  them. 

The  weather  wa'n't  cold,  and  the  snow  didn't 
bother  us  much,  though  it  hung  on  till  one  night 
when  a  Chinook  hit  the  country  and  next  morning 
it  was  all  gone  except  in  the  coulees.  I  couldn't  be- 
lieve it  when,  leaving  the  lodge  at  daylight,  I  saw 
the  plains  as  bare  of  snow  as  on  a  summer  day,  ex- 
cepting spots  in  the  deeper  coulees.  All  night  the 
wind  had  howled  and  shrieked,  though  it  was  warm, 
almost,  as  summer  winds.  Water  was  in  puddles 
everywhere  and  I  felt  spring  had  come.  But  in  two 
days  the  weather  was  cold  again,  although  there 
wa'n't  no  snow.  The  buffalo  didn't  leave,  so  that 
there  wa'n't  much  chance  of  the  Crees  moving  their 
village,  and  I  was  glad  of  that.  I  begun  to  go  about 
evenings  with  Mac,  visiting  his  friends,  feasting 
and  listening  to  stories.  The  Crees  was  proud  of 
their  tribe,  and  I  never  got  tired  of  the  stories  they 
told.  The  fairness  showed  up  by  their  telling  was 
a  thing  to  remember.  If  the  joke  was  on  the  teller 
himse'f,  he  told  it  straight  out  and  seemed  to  enjoy 
it  as  much  as  anybody. 

One  night  we  was  in  Left  Hand's  lodge.  He  was 
more'n  sixty  years  old,  I  reckon,  and  he  told  a  story 
that  I  can't  forget. 

214 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        215 

"When  I  was  a  young  man,"  he  said,  cleaning  his 
black  stone  pipe,  "there  were  not  so  many  horses 
as  there  are  today.  To  steal  a  good  horse  was  a 
greater  task  then  than  to  take  many  now.  I  was  a 
leader  among  the  young  men,  and  they  looked  to 
me  for  brave  deeds.  But  there  was  another  of  my 
own  age  who  had  a  large  following  of  his  own — 
larger  than  mine  most  of  the  time.  Fine  Bow,  that 
was  his  name.  We  did  not  like  each  other,  and  he 
tried  hard  to  set  examples  which  I  could  not  follow 
or  beat.  The  old  men  and  warriors  would  watch, 
and  the  young  women  took  sides.  But  he  could 
never  beat  me.  I  could  not  beat  him.  If  he  won 
an  honor,  I  won  as  much  but  no  more.  And  so  it 
went  on  till  one  night  he  came  to  me  and  said  that 
we  would  go  together  horse-stealing. 

"We  traveled  fourteen  days  and  many  nights  be- 
fore we  came  upon  the  Blackfeet  village.  There 
were  more  than  five  hundred  lodges.  We  saw  them 
before  the  sun  went  down.  They  were  not  far  from 
here,  half  a  day's  ride  up  the  river  from  this  place. 
There  was  no  moon  and  when  the  night  came  it  was 
very  dark  and  still.  We  were  not  far  from  the 
nearest  lodges,  and  while  yet  there  was  sunlight  I 
picked  the  horses  that  I  would  try  to  steal.  The 
Chief's  lodge  was  not  far  off,  and  near  it  was  a  rope 
corral  that  held  four  beautiful  horses.  I  had  seen 
them  plainly.  One  of  them  was  white. 

"The  Blackfeet  are  careful  of  their  horses.  The 
rope  corral  was  so  near  to  the  big  lodge  that  it  al- 
most touched  it.  But  I  would  have  the  white  horse 
and  another  besides.  I  was  thinking  how  fine  it 
would  be  to  have  such  animals  for  my  own.  It  was 
growing  dark.  Fine  Bow  whispered  to  me.  'Go 
your  own  way,'  he  said.  'I  shall  not  help  you.' 


216        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

"His  words  angered  me.  'I  scorn  your  help/  1 
whispered.  'I  would  not  have  it.  I  have  already 
picked  the  horses  I  shall  steal/ 

"He  laughed  scornfully.  'Ha !'  he  said.  'If  you 
steal  more  horses  than  I  do  I  will  join  your  band 
with  those  who  follow  me/ 

"  'Good/  I  whispered.  'If  you  reach  our  village 
with  more  horses  or  scalps  than  I  take,  I  will  call 
you  my  chief.  Ho !' 

"He  crawled  away  in  the  darkness.  As  soon  as 
he  was  gone  I  left  our  hiding  place  and  felt  my  way 
toward  the  big  lodge.  No  dogs  howled  and  the 
wind  moved  not.  No  men  were  stirring.  Fires 
were  few  in  the  village  and  most  of  the  lodges  were 
dark.  At  last  I  reached  the  corral.  I  listened.  I 
waited  there  so  that  the  horses  would  smell  me  and 
grow  used  to  me  before  I  moved  again.  I  feared 
that  if  I  startled  them  they  might  snort.  That 
would  waken  the  people  in  the  big  lodge.  But  they 
were  quiet  and  I  moved  a  little  so  that  the  horses 
would  know  that  I  was  there.  Finally  I  crept  under 
the  rope.  They  stirred  a  little  then,  and  that  made 
me  wait  longer.  But  at  last  I  stood  up  and  listened. 
There  was  no  strange  sound.  No  person  was  stir- 
ring. I  had  forgotten  Fine  Bow.  But  now  I  won- 
dered if  he,  too,  had  succeeded  in  getting  into  the 
village.  I  stole  to  the  side  of  the  beautiful  white 
buffalo-runner  of  the  chief.  Ho !  what  a  beauty  he 
was  and  how  sleek.  I  reached  about  his  smooth 
neck  to  tie  my  rope.  Ho !  my  hand  bumped  against 
something  strange.  I  nearly  cried  out.  Then  a 
head — a  man's  head — rose  over  the  white  horse's 
neck.  I  was  terrified.  My  heart  jumped  like  a 
green  frog,  and  I  stepped  backward.  'This  is  my 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        217 

horse/  a  voice  whispered.  And  two  eyes  looked  into 
my  own. 

"Then  anger  came  to  me.  It  was  Fine  Bow  who 
looked  at  me,  who  whispered  across  the  neck  of  the 
white  horse.  He  had  crawled  to  the  same  corral. 
He  was  after  the  horses  that  I  wanted. 

"  'No/  I  whispered,  when  I  could.  'I  saw  this 
horse  first.  He  is  mine  because  I  touched  him  be- 
fore you  did/ 

"  'I  want  this  horse,  this  white  one  !'  His  voice 
was  growing  louder.  It  was  too  loud.  He  was 
foolish. 

"  'Shh !'  I  warned  him.  'You  will  wake  the  peo- 
ple in  the  lodge.  Take  any  other  horse  but  this 
white  one  and  let  us  go/  I  begged. 

"'Ho!'  He  struck  the  Chief's  lodge  with  his 
rope's  end.  It  cracked  like  a  shot.  'Ho,  Blackf eet !' 
he  cried.  'A  Cree  is  stealing  your  white  horse !' 

"I  ran  away.  So  did  he.  It  was  a  dark  night, 
but  we  both  ran  fast.  I  was  ahead. 

"  'Here  he  goes,  Blackf  eet !  I  am  chasing  the 
Cree!'  Fine  Bow's  voice  was  loud.  'He  runs  well 
and  his  scalp  is  a  fine  one!' 

"He  was  crazy  I  thought.  Fine  Bow  had  lost  his 
reason.  I  tried  to  run  faster  but  my  strength  was 
leaving  me.  I  was  almost  without  breath. 

"Then  I  heard  him  laughing.  We  were  far  from 
the  lodges  now,  and  I  turned  and  seized  him.  'You 
fool !'  I  panted.  Anger  was  stronger  than  my  fear. 

"  'You  are  the  fool/  he  laughed.  His  voice  was 
choked  with  glee. 

'"Why  did  you  do  that?'  I  demanded,  pushing 
him  from  me. 

"  'To  see  how  brave  you  are/  he  said  and  fell 
upon  the  ground,  laughing  loud. 


218        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

"  'But  we  have  stolen  no  horses/  I  cried  angrily. 

"  'No/  he  said,  'but  I  made  you  run  by  speaking 
Cree  to  Blackf  eet !'  He  got  up  to  laugh  again. 

"It  was  so.  The  village  laughed  a  long  time  after 
the  story  was  told.  And  while  it  laughed  I  became 
the  friend  of  Fine  Bow." 

Left  Hand  stirred  the  lodge-fire  and  re-filled  the 
black  pipe.  "There  are  men  yet  living  who  remem- 
ber the  story,"  he  said,  his  deep-lined  face  set  hard 
at  his  thoughts  of  the  past.  He  drew  a  brand  from 
the  fire  and  lit  the  pipe.  "Fine  Bow  was  a  great 
warrior,"  he  said.  "But  his  years  were  few.  I  saw 
him  die,  and  I  hope  to  die  as  he  did,  fighting  the 
Blackf  eet.  I  have  finished." 

Everybody  laughed  over  the  story,  but  I  didn't 
laugh.  Left  Hand's  face  held  my  eyes  and  kept  me 
from  laughing.  I  wished  he  would  tell  another  yarn. 
But  before  there  was  time  we  had  another  caller. 
Black  Bear,  the  old  medicine-man,  come  into  the 
lodge. 

Left  Hand  greeted  him  warm,  placing  a  back- 
rest made  of  little  willows  held  together  with  sinew 
and  thongs  for  the  old  man  at  the  head  of  the  lodge  ; 
and  everybody  said  "how"  when  he  sat  down  and 
leaned  against  it.  He  had  the  sternest  face  I  ever 
saw.  His  mouth  was  bigger  than  Dad's,  but 
straight  cut  like  his  was,  and  square-looking.  His 
hair  was  getting  gray,  and  that  is  a  mark  of  dis- 
tinction among  In j  ins,  always,  a  proof  that  the 
Great  Mystery  has  favored  the  owner.  Black  Bear 
wore  a  necklace  made  of  the  teeth  of  grizzly  bears, 
and  in  his  ears  two  shells  as  big  as  dollars.  Right 
over  his  high,  broad  forehead  was  a  little  knot  of 
hair,  braided  and  wound  up  tight,  with  a  bone 
whistle  sticking  through  it.  Mac  said  the  whistle 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        219 

was  made  from  the  bone  of  an  eagle's  wing  and  was 
a  medicine-whistle.  He  must  have  been  eighty,  but 
his  eyes  was  bright  as  a  boy's  and  when  he  looked 
at  me  I  was  sure  he  knowed  what  I  was  thinking 
about. 

Left  Hand  filled  the  pipe  but  didn't  light  it.  He 
passed  it  to  Black  Bear,  and  I  watched  careful  to 
see  how  it  was  handled,  for  whenever  the  old  man 
smoked  it  was  a  sight  to  watch  how  deliberate  and 
careful  he  was  of  his  pipe's  movements. 

He  lit  the  pipe  and  rose  to  his  knees.  His  face 
was  solemn  and  his  eyes  saw  nobody  about  the  lodge 
fire.  His  lips  moved  but  made  no  sound,  as  he 
turned  the  pipe's  stem  slow  towards  the  sky  and 
held  it  there  with  bowed  head.  Then  he  pointed  it 
at  the  earth  near  the  fire,  his  lips  still  moving  silent, 
while  he  offered  it  to  the  "mother"  of  all  things.  I 
could  have  counted  twenty  before  he  moved  it  and 
oifered  it  to  the  four  winds,  the  four  seasons,  or  the 
north,  east,  south,  and  west.  I  never  saw  a  thing 
done  so  solemn,  nor  with  such  grace;  though  I'd 
have  bet  the  pipe  was  out. 

But  it  wa'n't.  Black  Bear  smoked  before  passing 
it  back  to  Left  Hand.  After  that  it  went  around 
the  fire  and  I  noticed  that  the  stem  was  always 
pointed  towards  the  lodge  wall  and  that  it  was 
passed  in  the  same  direction  the  Sun  travels.  I 
thought  of  the  buffalo  in  the  bloody  corral.  No 
wonder  they  noticed  and  followed  such  customs. 
Mebby  superstition  is  behind  a  heap  of  them,  but 
it's  hard  for  me  to  draw  a  line  between  it  and  a  sen- 
sible creed.  I  reckon  they're  related,  one  to  the 
other,  anyhow.  I've  never  forgot  what  Dad  said 
about  the  ring  on  the  finger  and  the  ring  in  the 
nose.  I  try  to  go  slow  in  branding  things  I  don't 


220        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

understand,  as  frauds.  But  I've  seen  queer  doings 
and  heered  strange  things  in  Injin  camps — things 
I  don't  try  to  explain.  They  lay  hold  of  me,  too, 
sometimes;  though  I  reckon  it's  only  the  mystery 
that  is  wrapped  around  them  that  does  it,  mebby. 
Anyway,  most  always  I've  found  that  if  you  believe 
a  thing  strong  enough  it's  likely  to  be  true,  or  seem 
true. 

But  whatever  an  Injin  believes  in  he  never  in- 
sists on  you  accepting  it  as  your  own  belief,  and  he 
thinks  no  less  of  you  if  you  don't  believe  like  he 
does.  He  holds  that  you  have  a  right  to  your 
opinion  and  claims  that  same  right  for  himse'f .  He 
never  scorns  another's  creed,  no  matter  how  much 
it  may  differ  from  his  own 

That  night  Black  Bear  told  this  story;  and  when 
he  had  finished  I  wished  that  Dad  might  have  lived 
to  hear  it  and  tell  me  what  he  thought  of  it.  It 
left  me  wondering  and  I've  wondered  often  since. 
They  believe  things  that  we  don't  believe,  and  do 
things  that  we  can't  do.  I'll  let  it  go  at  that. 

"When  I  was  a  boy,"  begun  Black  Bear,  "our 
people  had  camped  in  the  Cypress  Hills.  There 
were  no  buffalo,  and  the  Crees  were  hungry.  The 
heat  had  burned  the  buffalo  range  and  the  Black- 
feet  had  whipped  us  hard.  There  was  much  mourn- 
ing among  the  women  and  many  faces  were  painted. 
The  old  men  said  that  the  buffalo  had  left  the  world, 
had  hidden  away  in  a  great  hole  in  the  ground  to 
the  eastward.  There  were  no  antelope.  Maybe  they 
had  gone  into  hiding  with  the  buffalo.  I  do  not 
know.  The  plains  were  bare,  all  bare,  and  brown. 
The  people  knew  why  all  this  had  come  upon  them. 
Wah-pi-oose,  the  buffalo-man  had  lost  the  great 
buffalo-stone  of  the  Crees;  it  could  not  be  found; 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        221 

and  they  must  starve.  Their  hearts  were  on  the 
ground ! 

"Natuse;  ah,  I  remember  that  great  medicine- 
man !  Natuse  went  away  alone.  For  four  days  and 
four  nights  he  stayed  away.  Then  some  young  men 
saw  him  returning.  They  went  to  meet  him.  He 
was  crawling  over  the  hot  plains — crawling  on  his 
belly  as  a  snake  travels.  He  would  not  speak  to 
the  young  men,  nor  would  he  allow  them  to  help 
him,  but  kept  crawling  painfully  on.  He  did  not 
reach  the  village  until  it  was  dark.  His  finger  nails 
were  torn  away  and  his  hands  were  cut  and  bleed- 
ing. Blood  had  dried  upon  his  face  where  the 
bushes  had  scratched  it,  for  he  had  come  straight 
for  the  village,  as  his  medicine  had  told  him  he 
must.  Natuse  stopped  near  to  my  father's  lodge. 
'Bring  me  a  knife/  he  called.  My  father  gave  his 
knife  to  him.  Then  Natuse  cut  off  his  little  finger 
and  buried  it  in  the  ground  under  him.  'Ho!  my 
people/  he  said,  rising  to  his  feet.  'I  bring  good 
news/ 

"The  Crees  gathered  near  him  to  listen.  'In  the 
early  morning/  said  Natuse,  'the  buffalo  will  come. 
The  plains  will  be  blackened  with  them.  Let  the 
hunters  prepare.  Let  the  women  get  ready,  for 
there  will  be  much  to  do.  Let  no  one  leave  the  vil- 
lage, but  keep  some  young  men  upon  that  knoll 
where  they  can  watch  the  little  lake.  They  must 
not  take  their  eyes  off  its  water.  With  the  buffalo 
will  come  one  that  wears  a  white  robe.  A  warrior 
will  kill  that  buffalo,  but  he  must  not  take  his  robe. 
Let  him  who  kills  the  white  buffalo  remember  this, 
and  come  here  for  me  when  it  is  slain.  I  have 
finished/ 

"The  people  were  glad.     Natuse  was  powerful. 


222        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

My  father  has  told  me  that  Natuse  foretold  the 
coming  of  the  whitemen,  and  that  he  even  described 
their  weapons  before  any  people  on  the  world  had 
even  seen  them.  Yes,  I  remember  Natuse  when  he 
was  very  old,  and  now  I  am  as  old  as  he  was  when 
he  did  what  I  am  telling. 

"The  village  that  night  was  as  still  as  the  places 
where  the  dead  are  buried.  All  the  night  the  young 
men  were  upon  the  knoll  watching  the  lake.  A 
bright  star  looked  at  me  through  the  smoke-hole  of 
my  father's  lodge.  I  saw  it  move  a  little.  Then  a 
star  that  was  near  it  fell  and  a  streak  of  light  made 
a  glow  upon  the  dark  lodge  wall.  A  grasshopper 
crawled  upon  my  arm  and  sang  in  the  night.  I  was 
frightened.  I  crept  out  of  the  lodge  without  mak- 
ing a  noise.  The  day  was  not  far  off,  I  thought,  for 
a  wind  was  beginning  to  stir  as  it  does  when  the 
day  is  coming.  I  crept  to  a  hilltop  not  far  from  the 
knoll  where  the  young  men  were  watching  the  lake. 
I  heard  a  wolf  howl  down  where  the  shadows  were 
thick  near  the  water,  and  a  stone  I  had  loosened  in 
walking  went  tumbling  down  the  slope  towards 
the  village.  Then  a  dog  howled  and  my  body  felt 
as  though  a  cactus  were  being  pressed  against  it, 
for  I  feared  that  all  the  dogs  would  answer.  But 
they  did  not,  and  I  sat  down  to  watch  the  lake. 
After  a  time  I  heard  a  strange  noise  (Black  Bear 
made  a  humming  sound  deep  down  in  his  throat). 
I  could  see  nothing  that  was  making  it;  but  the  air 
felt  queer  about  me.  I  was  very  young  and  the 
noise  scared  me.  It  came  again,  louder  than  before, 
and  then  I  saw  that  the  lake  was  disturbed.  White 
smoke  was  coming  from  the  water.  Then  it  bubbled 
and  boiled,  just  as  a  kettle  does  over  a  fire.  The 
ground  trembled  and  the  noise  came  again.  Mn- 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        223 

mn-mn-mn  ugh-ugh!  Mn-mn-mn-mn  ugh-ugh!  The 
air  became  heated  and  the  ground  shook  and  stirred 
under  me.  I  could  scarcely  get  my  breath.  It  was 
terrible. 

"The  people  in  the  village  were  awake,  too,  but 
they  did  not  hear  the  strange!  noise  as  I  did.  I  kept 
my  eyes  upon  the  lake.  Suddenly  the  water  rose  in 
the  middle  and  the  lump  was  like  a  ball  of  water. 
The  ball  began  rolling  towards  the  shore,  rolling, 
rolling,  rolling,  until  it  struck  the  beach  and  burst 
with  much  white  smoke.  Ho!  Out  of  the  mist  of 
white  smoke  there  walked  a  buffalo.  He  was  white 
as  the  snow.  Ho!  He  stood  on  the  land  looking 
towards  the  east.  He  was  the  Medicine  Buffalo  that 
Natuse  had  told  us  would  come. 

"Then  lumps  rose  up  all  about  the  lake  and  began 
rolling  towards  the  shore.  Each  lump  burst  with 
a  puff  of  white  smoke  and  a  buffalo  came  out  of  it. 
When  the  shore  was  black  with  buffalo  the  white 
bull  began  to  move  eastward,  and  the  rest  followed 
as  fast  as  they  reached  the  land.  The  white  smoke 
hung  over  the  lake  until  it  almost  hid  the  mighty 
herd  that  was  coming  out  of  the  water.  They  could 
not  be  counted.  The  ground  trembled  with  their 
weight;  and  as  far  eastward  as  I  could  see  there 
were  buffalo  without  end.  The  hunters  went  after 
them  and  the  travois  followed  to  bring  in  the  meat. 
My  father  killed  the  white  bull.  Natuse  skinned 
him  and  gave  the  white  robe  to  the  Sun.  I  have 
finished." 

Left  Hand  filled  the  pipe  again. 

"My  grandfather  was  Natuse's  brother,"  said 
Sitting  Horse,  a  man  as  old  as  Black  Bear. 

"Ahh!"  both  Left  Hand  and  the  old  medicine- 
man said,  like  they  both  had  knowed  him. 


224        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

Black  Bear  smoked  and  passed  the  pipe  as  before, 
but  nobody  spoke  till  it  was  back  with  Left  Hand. 
It  was  plain  that  Sitting  Horse  was  expected  to  go 
on.  And  he  did. 

"My  grandfather  was  with  a  war-party  once  that 
was  led  by  Natuse,"  he  said.  "Grandfather  was 
young  then.  He  told  me  this: 

"One  night  they  camped  in  a  dark  forest  where 
great  pine  trees  grew.  It  was  far  to  the  eastward. 
The  war-party  numbered  thirty  men.  It  was  in  the 
month  of  roses  and  rain  fell  every  day  and  night. 
They  had  found  no  enemy.  In  the  night  a  great 
stillness  came  in  the  darkness.  The  heavy  rain  had 
stopped  but  a  fine  mist  was  falling.  The  great  trees 
leaked  water  through  their  tops  and  no  dry  places 
could  be  found.  There  was  something  that  made 
them  afraid.  Even  Natuse  felt  it.  None  could  tel] 
what  it  was  that  frightened  them.  That  made  it 
worse.  The  men  tried  to  sleep  but  the  stillness 
among  the  pine  trees  made  it  hard  for  them  to  get 
breath. 

"Suddenly  Natuse  sat  up  straight  near  my  grand- 
father and  there  came  a  terrible  crashing  sound 
that  hurt  the  ears.  With  it  came  a  flood  of  light 
that  went  away  as  soon  as  it  came.  The  air 
smelled  of  something  that  did  not  belong  in  the 
world.  Ten  of  the  war-party  were  dead  and  two 
that  lived  were  blind  forever.  A  great  hole  was 
torn  in  the  ground  near  Natuse  and  grandfather 
and  flying  dirt  had  covered  them.  It  was  long  be- 
fore they  could  speak  or  move.  Then  Natuse  and 
grandfather  walked  down  into  the  hole  the  great 
noise  had  made.  In  the  bottom  they  found  a 
feather.  It  was  green  as  the  new  grass  in  the  early 
spring  and  was  as  long  as  a  war-bow.  It  came  from 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        225 

the  wing  of  the  thunder-bird,  Natuse  told  my 
grandfather.  It  was  the  thunder-bird  that  made 
the  hole  in  the  ground  and  brought  the  great  light. 
It  was  the  thunder-bird  that  killed  the  warriors. 
The  rest  came  back  to  the  village.  I  have  finished." 
Right  away  I  knowed  it  was  lightning  that  dug 
the  hole  and  killed  the  men.  (White  folks  are 
mighty  sure  of  theirse'fs  and  know  a  heap.)  But 
I  couldn't  understand  the  green  feather.  Natuse 
didn't  lie,  and  Sitting  Horse  believed  every  word  of 
what  he  told.  So  did  all  the  rest — all  but  me;  and 
I  wondered  why.  I  knowed  that  dreams  figured  in 
the  lives  of  Injins  and  thought  mebby  a  dream  had 
mixed  itse'f  up  with  a  thunder  storm  'way  back 
yonder  when  Sitting  Horse's  grandfather  was  a  boy. 
But  dream  or  no  dream,  the  thing  that  grabs  you — 
the  thing  you  think  you  can  explain  and  can't,  was 
in  the  story.  I  don't  know  how  to  say  it,  but  it 
dared  you,  somehow;  and  I  liked  it  the  way  I'd 
liked  the  Robinson  Crusoe  book  of  Abner  Hastings'. 
And  the  green  feather  made  me  feel  like  I  knowed 
he  felt  when  he  run  onto  the  man's  track  in  the 
sand. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

When  I  sat  by  my  own  fire  after  Mac  had  gone  to 
his  lodge  for  the  night  I  thought  about  the  stories 
some  more.  White  folks  that  lived  long  ago  and 
was  wild  like  the  In j ins  held  to  queer  beliefs  and 
their  medicine-men  told  of  chariots  of  fire  and  folks 
that  turned  to  salt.  Nobody  disputed  them,  and 
even  now  it  won't  do  to  make  light  of  it.  And  I 
wouldn't  do  it,  noway.  I  reckon  that  mixed  with 
the  truth  in  every  belief  there  is  a  passel  of  impos- 
sibilities which  folks  could  separate  if  they  dared, 
and  that  whether  they  admit  it  or  not,  both  white 
and  red  folks'll  bear  shackles  of  mystery  rather 
than  to  pick  and  choose. 

Once  when  I  was  little  old  Nate  Busey  that  lives 
down  on  Coon  Creek  below  the  mill  told  me  to  watch 
out  for  devil's  darning  needles,  those  big  dragon 
flies  that  stays  around  water.  He  said  they'd  sew 
up  the  lips  of  boys  that  used  bad  words.  I  told  it 
to  Jeff  Hawkins  and  after  that  we  was  both  afraid 
of  them  and  was  mighty  careful  what  we  said  when 
we  was  fishing.  I've  even  set  out  to  kill  them  with 
a  stick,  holding  one  hand  over  my  lips.  And 
blamed  if  I  ain't  half  afraid  of  them  to  this  day, 
even  though  I  sure  know  they're  harmless. 

I  figured  that  we  had  owned  beliefs  as  rickety  as 
anybody's  and  that  the  difference,  if  there  was  any, 
was  less  than  between  the  bow-and-arrow  and  my 
rifle.  And  I  let  it  go  at  that. 

It  was  a  long  time  before  I  went  to  sleep.  In 
spite  of  all  I  could  do  to  keep  it  off,  lonesomeness 
layed  hold  of  me.  I  built  up  my  fire,  but  it  didn't 

226 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        227 

he'p,  and  I  let  it  go  plumb  out  and  layed  on  my  back 
looking  up  through  the  smoke-hole  at  the  stars. 
But  I  couldn't  fit  myse'f  to  the  plains,  noway.  I 
mean,  to  live  there  always.  While  Dad  was  living 
I'd  never  thought  about  living  there  always;  just 
thought  about  one  day  at  a  time,  like,  leaving  things 
to  him  to  settle,  I  reckon.  But  now  I'd  got  to  think 
for  myse'f. 

I  could  see  clear  that  I  ought  to  get  back  where  I 
come  from;  and  I  wanted  to.  Then  when  I'd  set- 
tled it  and  tried  to  go  to  sleep,  I  got  to  thinking  of 
Bluebird.  I  tried  to  shut  her  out,  but  whenever  I 
turned  my  thoughts  away  from  her  I  couldn't  hold 
to  it,  and  back  she'd  come. 

It's  queer,  but  when  you  try  to  keep  from  thinks 
ing  of  anything  the  trying  itse'f  won't  let  go  of 
what  you  want  to  turn  loose,  and  it  hangs  around 
till  finally  you  give  up.  I  wished  that  she  hadn't 
fetched  the  kettle  that  night,  and  felt  plumb 
ashamed  of  it  as  soon  as  I'd  wished  it.  I  got  to 
asking  questions  and  answering  myse'f  honest. 

Wa'n't  it  a  kind  act,  fetching  the  kettle? 

It  sure  was. 

Wa'n't  she  as  fine  a  little  woman  as  I  ever  saw? 

Yes,  she  was. 

Had  she  made  eyes  at  me  or  tried  to  get  ac- 
quainted? 

No,  not  by  a  long  shot. 

And  then  I  got  mad  at  her  ducking  back  into  her 
father's  lodge  that  morning  when  she  saw  me.  She 
didn't  want  to  have  anything  to  do  with  me.  And 
she  needn't.  I  was  a  whiteman  and  she  was  only 
an  Injin  woman.  As  soon  as  that  come  out  I  felt 
as  sneaking  as  a  coyote  and  took  it  back.  And 
that's  the  way  I  spent  more  than  two  hours. 


228        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

Mac  come  early  to  the  lodge,  but  I  was  up  and 
stirring  when  he  lifted  the  door  and  entered. 

"Did  you  rest  well?"  he  asked,  kneeling  beside 
the  fire. 

"No,"  I  answered,  and  looked  into  his  eyes. 
There  was  something  in  his  voice  that  told  me  I 
needn't  have  answered — that  he  knowed  I'd  spent  a 
restless  night. 

He  stirred  the  fire  with  a  stick;  then  dropped  it 
on  the  blaze.  "The  ways  of  your  people  are  dif- 
ferent from  the  ways  of  the  Crees,  Lone  Wolf,"  he 
said.  "Do  you  think  that  Bluebird  is  a  fool,  or  that 
Red  Robe  has  no  eyes?"  He  begun  to  fill  his  pipe, 
absent,  with  his  thin  fingers,  while  his  glance  was 
on  me  without  seeing  that  I  was  there. 

I  could  feel  my  face  getting  hot.  "What  do  you 
mean?"  I  asked.  But  I  was  sure  he  knowed  I 
didn't  mean  for  him  to  answer  me. 

"I  know  but  little  of  the  ways  of  my  father's  peo- 
ple and  your  own,"  he  went  on  directly,  leaning  for- 
ward to  take  a  brand  from  the  fire  to  light  the  pipe. 
"Be  wise,  Lone  Wolf.  Do  not  seem  to  steal  about 
among  the  Crees.  Their  customs  are  their  own  and 
you  are  here  with  them.  Speak  out,  that  they  may 
know  what  you  mean  and  what  is  in  your  heart,  lest 
they  think  you  treacherous,  all  because  they  do  not 
know  the  whiteman's  ways.  If  you  want  Bluebird 
go  to  her  father." 

He  passed  me  the  pipe  and  I  took  it.  Before  I 
could  speak  his  hands  flashed  the  signs  "smoke  first." 
It  is  a  good  rule  and  I  have  followed  it  since  then. 
My  feeling  wa'n't  all  clean  resentment.  It  was  a 
mixed  feeling,  with  some  anger.  But  it  weakened 
before  the  quiet  little  man  across  the  lodge-fire,  and 
when  I  spoke  I'd  killed  it  off. 


UGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER   229 

"I  have  not  even  told  myself  that  I  want  her,  Lit- 
tle Knife,"  I  said.  "But  I  would  like  to  know  her, 
like  to  learn  if  I  do  want  her.  That  is  the  way  of 
my  people.  And  if  she  does  not  want  me  I  would 
not  have  her,  even  though  I  could." 

I  was  speaking  the  truth,  I  had  not  thought  of 
having  Bluebird  for  my  wife.  If  it  had  been  in  my 
mind  I  hadn't  knowed  it.  I'd  took  to  her  from  the 
first,  the  same  as  I  had  to  Dad.  She  seemed  to  draw 
me,  and  I  wanted  to  talk  to  her  and  be  friendly. 
But  I  couldn't  stay  on  the  plains  always.  And  I 
remembered  what  Dad  had  said  just  before  he  went 
and  how  all  along  he'd  tried  to  keep  me  away  from 
her. 

"I  do  not  think  that  I  want  her,  Little  Knife,"  I 
said,  handing  back  the  pipe. 

He  paid  no  attention  to  that.  "Your  ways  are 
different  from  ours,"  he  says,  putting  away  his  pipe. 
"Bluebird  is  a  Cree  woman  and  will  do  as  her  father 
decides.  I  have  spoken." 

"She  seems  to  be  afraid  of  me,"  I  said.  But  he 
didn't  answer. 

"The  weather  will  change  soon.  There  will  be 
snow  again,"  he  said  finally.  "We  must  kill  some 
meat." 

"They  are  curious  folks,"  I  thought.  "I  am 
ready  to  hunt  for  meat,"  I  told  him.  "But  let  us 
begin  trading  soon."  Our  talk  had  made  me  want 
to  get  away  more  than  ever.  I  wanted  to  get  the 
thing  settled.  "When  can  we  start  our  trading?" 
I  asked. 

"There  is  no  good  in  haste,"  he  smiled.  "The 
robes  and  fur  will  come  to  us  and  to  no  others.  It 
is  quite  a  time  until  spring  and  while  we  may  begin 
to  trade  even  now,  it  is  well  to  be  slow,  for  we  shall 


230        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

be  able  to  choose  the  best  by  taking  time.  Let  us 
go  out  on  the  plains  today." 

So  we  set  out  up  the  Marias  after  buffalo.  The 
morning  was  chill.  A  strong  wind  was  blowing, 
but  the  plains  was  nigh  bare  of  snow.  I  rode  Bill's 
hoss  to  save  Eagle,  though  they  was  all  fat  enough 
and  fit;  but  I  reckoned  to  save  Dad's  war-hoss  for 
special  occasions. 

I  hadn't  ever  yet  run  buffalo;  and  no  sooner  had 
we  started  than  my  hoss,  going  as  fast  as  he  could, 
fell  with  me  and  mighty  nigh  laid  me  up.  My  head 
hit  the  frozen  ground  and  I  went  plumb  asleep  for 
a  spell.  When  I  come  to  Mac  was  with  me.  I  felt 
light-headed  and  sick  at  my  stomach. 

The  herd  was  only  a  small  one  and  it  was  more'n 
three  miles  away  when  I  got  straightened  out.  But 
Mac  had  killed  a  fat  cow,  so  we  called  it  good  and 
quit. 

A  lump  was  swelling  above  my  ear  and  I  felt 
worse  than  I  let  on  when  we  started  back  for  the 
village.  Before  we  got  there  I  had  to  get  down,  or 
I'd  have  fallen  off,  I  reckon.  Mac  got  down,  too, 
and  we  both  waited  a  spell  till  I  felt  better ;  but  my 
head  wa'n't  right  by  a  long  shot  when  we  got  in. 

As  we  passed  Red  Robe's  lodge,  Bluebird  come 
out.  She  had  a  kettle  in  her  hand. 

"What  is  wrong?"  she  asked,  dropping  the  kettle 
and  coming  to  meet  us.  I  thought  she  looked 
scared. 

"His  horse  fell  with  him.  His  head  is  hurt,"  Mac 
said,  starting  on. 

"Come  into  the  lodge."  She  turned  and  walked 
to  it  in  that  silent  way  of  hers  and  raised  the  door. 
"Lone  Wolf  is  hurt,"  she  said,  and  I  heard  them 
murmur  "Ahh,"  inside. 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        231 

I  was  glad  to  sit  down,  but  the  warmth  of  the 
lodge  made  me  light-headed  again  and  I  layed  down 
on  a  robe.  I  wa'n't  out  of  my  mind.  I  could  hear 
them  talking  and  knowed  what  was  going  on,  but  it 
was  dim,  and  I  didn't  care.  Somebody  undid  my 
head-silk.  And  I  knowed  it  was  her.  I  tried  to 
sit  up,  but  she  pressed  her  hand  against  my  breast 
and  I  give  up.  It  was  good  to  be  still.  She  put 
something  cold  on  my  head  and  I  could  hear  them 
pounding  up  some  roots  to  make  medicine  that 
would  he'p  me.  But  I  dozed  off. 

I  must  have  slept  a  long  spell,  for  when  I  woke 
it  was  plumb  dark.  The  fire  was  crackling  and  I 
could  see  them  all  in  its  dim  light.  I  stirred  a  lit- 
tle, and  Bluebird  come  and  changed  a  cloth  on  my 
head. 

"You  are  better,"  she  said,  pressing  down  the 
cloth  gentle  and  careful.  "You  must  have  had  a 
bad  fall.  Lie  still  yet  a  while." 

I  had  moved  to  get  up.  I  wished  she  would  talk 
some  more,  but  she  sat  down  where  I  couldn't  even 
see  her  and  was  still.  The  rest  went  on  talking  in 
low  voices ;  and  Mac  was  there. 

Directly  I  sat  up  and  the  cloth  that  smelled  strong 
of  herbs,  fell  off. 

"How,"  smiled  Red  Robe,  rising  to  his  knees 
across  the  fire.  And  Mac  come  over  and  sat  down 
by  my  side. 

"I  am  better,"  I  said.  "I  have  had  a  good  nap." 
My  head  pained  me  some  but  I  wa'n't  dizzy  no  more 
nor  sick.  I  was  hungry.  "Come,"  I  says  to  Mac, 
"let  us  go  to  our  own  lodge." 

But  his  hand  was  on  my  arm  and  I  did  not  get  up. 

"I  would  speak,"  he  said  to  Red  Robe.  And  the 
warrior  straightened  his  body. 


232        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

"Your  lodge  is  a  good  place."  Mac  spoke  slow 
and  in  a  low  voice.  "Manitou  gives  comfort  to 
those  who  are  cunning  with  weapons,  and  you  are  a 
great  hunter. 

"I  would  speak  for  my  friend,  Lone  Wolf.  I 
would  tell  what  is  in  his  heart.  He  did  not  know 
that  I  would  speak,  did  not  guess  that  I  would  tell 
you.  He  did  not  ask  me  to  speak  for  him,  but  Lit- 
tle Knife  is  the  friend  of  Lone  Wolf.  The  ways  of 
the  whiteman  are  not  our  ways,  and  that  my  friend 
may  not  be  misunderstood,  that  you  may  respect 
him  as  he  goes  about  the  village,  I  will  speak  for 
him  before  you  while  his  own  ears  listen. 

"Lone  Wolf  thinks  much  of  Bluebird.  He  would 
talk  to  her  often  and  learn  to  know  her  well.  He 
would  not  seek  to  take  her  to  his  lodge  unless  she 
wished  to  go  there  as  his  woman.  That  is  the  way 
of  his  people.  He  has  told  me  this,  and  I  am  his 
friend,  that  he  would  first  be  sure  that  Bluebird 
was  the  woman  he  wanted  and  that  he  was  the  man 
she  desired  before  he  spoke  to  you,  her  father. 
Lone  Wolf  will  have  but  one  woman.  That,  too,  is 
the  way  of  his  people.  Red  Robe  knows  that  Lone 
Wolf  is  a  good  hunter,  that  his  heart  is  kind,  and 
that  he  has  many  goods  and  horses.  I  have  fin- 
ished." 

Red  Robe  drew  his  pipe  from  his  fire-bag  slowly 
and  laid  it  before  him.  A  puppy  whined  at  the 
lodge-door  and  Bluebird  raised  it  and  lifted  in  the 
shivering,  fuzzy  mite,  born  plumb  out  of  season. 

I  can't  tell  you  how  I  felt.  I  was  angry  at  Mac 
and  sorry  for  her  all  in  one.  But  it  was  done.  I 
wanted  to  get  out  of  there;  but  I  couldn't  see  any 
way  to  do  it  right. 

"You'll  spick  now,"  said  Mac  in  English.    "You'll 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        233 

tell  heem  I  ha'n't  lie,  me.  Dat's  bes'  way,  ma 
frien'."  His  voice  seemed  to  beg  me  to  do  like  he 
said. 

"What  Little  Knife  has  spoken  is  true,"  I  says. 
"I  did  not  know  that  he  would  do  as  he  has  done. 
I  did  not  ask  him  to  do  it.  But  he  has  not  lied. 
There/'  I  thought,  "I've  done  it." 

Bluebird's  mother  put  a  stick  on  the  fire  but  no- 
body spoke.  The  other  children  was  staring  at  me, 
their  black  eyes  searching  my  face.  I  felt  my  head 
throb,  and  looked  at  Bluebird.  She  was  snuggling 
the  puppy  in  her  arms  with  her  head  bent  over  him. 

Red  Robe  filled  the  pipe  with  tobacco  and  willow 
bark  and  when  he  reached  for  a  fire-brand  the  light 
fell  on  his  face.  It  was  seamed  deep,  like  Dad's, 
and  honest-looking  and  kind.  He  lit  the  pipe  and 
offered  it  to  the  Sun,  the  father,  and  then  to  the 
Earth,  the  mother,  of  all  things,  before  he  passed 
it  to  me.  I  took  it  and  smoked  as  he  had  and  as 
careful.  Then,  after  Mac  had  smoked,  the  old  war- 
rior spoke  and  I  haven't  forgot  his  words.  They 
was  fair. 

"All  people  have  their  ways,"  he  said,  looking 
straight  at  me.  "The  Blackf  eet  and  the  Crows  and 
the  Sioux,  each  have  customs  that  are  not  like  those 
of  the  Crees.  But  that  does  not  mean  that  the 
ways  of  those  people  are  wrong.  Let  each  nation 
follow  its  own  ways  as  its  fathers  did,  and  let  any 
who  become  members  of  a  tribe  of  people  conform 
to  its  customs.  That  is  well,  for  it  is  easier  for  one 
man  to  change  his  ways  than  it  is  for  many  to 
adopt  those  that  are  his.  I  have  known  many 
whitemen.  Some  were  honest.  Lone  Wolf  is  a 
brave  man  and  I  would  call  him  my  friend.  Let  it 
be  as  he  wishes.  But  let  him  come  to  my  lodge  to 


234        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

talk  to  my  daughter  and  know  her,  where  all  may 
hear  what  he  says,  if  they  care  to  listen.  I  have 
finished." 

I  was  more'n  half  set  against  Mac,  and  fidgety. 
I  wanted  Red  Robe  to  know  that  I  appreciated  him 
being  fair,  but  I  didn't  want  Bluebird  to  believe 
that  I  sure  wanted  her,  only  to  find  out  later  on  that 
I  didn't.  I  couldn't  think  of  a  worth-while  thing 
to  say ;  but  I  knowed  I  plumb  had  to  say  something. 

Red  Robe  was  putting  away  his  pipe  with  the  air 
of  a  man  who  has  set  aside  a  respected  custom  to 
oblige  a  friend,  and  Mac  was  looking  at  the  lodge 
wall  over  my  head,  listening,  like.  I  reachd  across 
the  fire  and  shook  hands  with  Red  Robe.  "I  will 
go  now,"  I  told  him.  "But  I  will  visit  your  lodge, 
and  I  would  that  you  come  often  to  mine." 

Mac  got  up  to  go  with  me.  I  mighty  nigh  stopped 
to  say  something  to  Bluebird.  I  wanted  to;  but 
I  wa'n't  sure  it  would  be  right.  I  saw  her  eyes  in 
the  firelight,  though,  and  I  thought  they  looked  glad. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

My  head  was  sore  the  next  morning,  and  I  did  not 
go  out  on  the  plains  with  Mac.  The  cut  in  my 
scalp  had  bled  some,  so  that  my  hair  was  tangled — 
it  was  longer  than  Dad's  now — and  I  washed,  it  and 
my  head-silk  to  get  rid  of  the  medicine-smell. 

Red  Robe  come  to  the  lodge  door  soon  after  Mac 
had  gone,  but  he  didn't  come  in.  He  asked  how  I 
felt;  but  he  didn't  mention  Bluebird  nor  I  didn't. 

I  slicked  up  the  lodge  and  run  up  a  few  bullets 
and  cleaned  my  rifle  to  pass  the  time.  It  was  after 
noon  before  I  was  through  and  sat  down.  I  hadn't 
spoke  to  Mac  about  him  taking  my  business  into  his 
own  hands  and  figured  that  I  wouldn't.  He  thought 
he  was  doing  me  a  kindness.  I  knowed  that;  and 
when  he  told  Red  Robe  what  I  had  said  to  him  he 
believed  what  he  had  spoken.  But  he  forgot  part 
of  what  I'd  told  him—that  I  didn't  want  Bluebird. 
But  there  wa'n't  any  use  arguing  with  Mac,  nor 
jangling  over  a  woman,  noway.  I  would  overlook 
it  and  we'd  go  on  as  before.  I  made  up  my  mind 
to  that  and  felt  better  and  easier.  It  would  only 
be  a  little  while  till  I  could  get  away  and  I  needn't 
come  back.  I  smiled  to  myse'f.  Come  back?  I 
wouldn't  come  back  to  the  plains  once  I  got  safe 
away  to  St.  Louis.  Nobody  could  pester  me  about 
Caley  Byers  now.  I  took  a  look  at  the  paper  Dad 
had  signed,  though  I  didn't  undo  it.  I  just  wanted 
to  make  sure  it  was  there  and  safe. 

It  was  sundown  before  Mac  come  in.  He  had 
made  a  good  killing  but  he  was  tired  and  went  to  his 

235 


236        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

own  lodge  to  sleep.  I  broiled  a  fat  steak  and 
smoked  alone.  It  wa'n't  late  when  I  turned  in,  but 
I  slept  till  daylight.  And  it  was  snowing  hard 
when  I  got  up.  The  fire  ring  was  covered  white 
and  it  was  dark,  though  I  knowed  it  wa'n't  early. 
I  was  hungry  as  a  buffalo  wolf  and  it  didn't  take 
me  long  to  get  a  fire  started. 

The  air  was  thick  with  snow-flakes  when  I  went 
for  water  and  the  plains  was  hid  from  sight.  I 
reckoned  that  the  storm  would  last  a  spell  and  I 
went  back  to  my  lodge  feeling  comfortable,  like,  and 
satisfied.  I  have  mostly  always  since  then  felt  that 
way  when  I  had  meat  and  a  fire  and  the  weather 
was  bad,  especially  late  in  the  fall  when  Nahpee  has 
made  his  sign  that  the  summer  is  dead. 

Mac  come  in  and  Yellow  Bear.  We  smoked  and 
talked  till  after  noon.  Then  we  went  to  visit  Medi- 
cine Elk  for  a  spell.  He  had  company  already  and 
was  gambling.  But  we  sat  down  and  watched. 
Medicine  Elk  and  Big  Rock  was  playing  the  bone 
game,  and  they  had  been  at  it  since  early  morning, 
I  reckoned  by  the  pile  of  robes  and  furs  and  fixings 
that  was  behind  Big  Rock,  the  visitor.  Medicine 
Elk  was  pretty  much  interested  in  the  game.  He 
said  'how'  when  we  come  in  and  then  forgot  us.  It 
was  Big  Rock's  turn  with  the  bones — two  sections 
of  a  deer's  shank  about  two  and  a  half  inches  long, 
one  with  a  thong  fastened  about  it,  the  other  bare. 
He  reached  behind  him  and  drew  five  dressed  robes 
to  a  place  between  himse'f  and  Medicine  Elk.  'Til 
wager  these  against  their  worth,"  he  said. 

Medicine  Elk  spoke  to  his  woman.  She  got  up 
and  fetched  a  parfleche,  painted  bright  with  colors, 
which  she  opened  by  the  fire.  It  was  a  dress  that 
she  took  out,  a  beautiful-worked  elk-skin  dress  all 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        237 

fancy  with  colored  quills  and  fringe.  I  saw  her 
face  as  she  handed  it  to  her  man,  and  I  was  plumb 
sorry  for  her.  It  had  taken  months  of  work  to 
make  that  dress,  and  likely  she  hadn't  even  had  a 
chance  to  wear  it. 

"Ten  tanned  robes  against  this  dress,"  said  Medi- 
cine Elk.  "See,  Big  Rock,  it  is  beautiful." 

"No,  six,"  objected  Big  Rock,  "only  six,"  and  he 
reached  for  another  robe  that  had  belonged  to  his 
host  and  put  it  with  the  first  five. 

"Bet  ten  robes  against  it,"  urged  Medicine  Elk, 
holding  the  pretty  thing  up  in  the  firelight. 

But  Big  Rock  didn't  look.  "I  will  bet  eight 
dressed  robes — that  is  all,"  he  said,  and  lit  his  pipe. 
He  was  older  than  Medicine  Elk  and  one  eye  was 
gone.  He  was  naked  to  the  waist  and  had  a  scar 
on  his  right  side  as  wide  as  my  hand. 

Medicine  Elk's  face  didn't  change.  "Good,"  he 
said,  laying  the  dress  on  top  of  the  eight  robes.  "I 
can  beat  you  this  time.  Ho !" 

He  took  the  bones  and  begun  to  rock  and  sway 
and  sing  like  a  woman  quieting  a  fretting  child. 
His  hands  was  so  quick  I  couldn't  see  what  he  did. 
But  directly  he  opened  one  of  them  before  Big 
Rock.  The  marked  bone,  the  one  with  the  thong 
around  it,  was  there  in  his  palm.  He  held  it  still 
only  a  second.  Then  he  closed  his  hand,  passing 
this  other,  while  he  sung  and  swayed  his  body  in 
time  with  the  tune. 

Big  Rock's  eye  was  fastened  on  him,  and  it  was 
lit  up  with  excitement  that  no  word  or  movement 
of  his  hands  would  show.  I  was  so  tightened  up  I 
ached.  I  hoped  the  woman  wouldn't  lose  her  dress. 

Suddenly  Medicine  Elk  sat  still,  both  arms  ex- 
tended towards  Big  Rock,  hands  shut  with  their 


238        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

backs  up.  I  could  feel  myse'f  prickle  all  over.  The 
woman  bent  over  her  man's  shoulder  and  her  eyes 
ha'nted  me  for  days  afterward.  Even  Mac  raised 
to  his  knees  to  look. 

"Ho!"  Big  Rock  struck  his  own  right  arm. 
Medicine  Elk  opened  his  right  hand.  The  marked 
bone  was  there.  The  dress  was  lost. 

"All  of  my  horses  against  everything  in  that  pile 
behind  you.  I  will  end  the  game  that  way,"  said 
Medicine  Elk,  offering  Big  Rock  the  bones. 

"Good,"  he  said,  and  took  the  bones.  "I  will  bet 
as  you  have  said,  the  pile  against  all  your  horses." 

Medicine  Elk  spoke  again  to  the  woman  and  she 
put  a  stick  on  the  fire.  A  hundred  hosses!  And 
the  pile  of  goods  represented  months  of  work.  The 
stick  blazed  up  and  Big  Rock  begun  to  sing  and 
juggle  the  bones  about.  Then,  after  he'd  showed 
the  marked  bone  to  Medicine  Elk  he  begun  to  sway 
in  earnest  to  his  song.  I  didn't  like  him.  "Urn-urn 
aaye-aaye  aaye-aaye.  Ho!"  He  sat  straight  up 
with  his  hands  held  towards  Medicine  Elk  and  his 
one  eye  boring  him  like  an  auger. 

"Ho !"  Medicine  Elk  slapped  his  own  left  arm  and 
right  off  Big  Rock  opened  his  left  hand.  But  the 
marked  bone  wa'n't  there;  only  the  smooth  one. 

I  could  feel  my  heart  pounding  and  my  mouth 
Was  plumb  dry.  But  Medicine  Elk  smiled.  "Now," 
he  said,  even,  "I  will  bet  this  lodge  against  five  good 
horses." 

I  saw  the  woman's  hand  cover  her  mouth.  She 
wa'n't  going  to  cry  out.  It  was  only  the  sign  of 
astonishment,  made,  most  likely,  without  her  know- 
ing she  did  it.  Then  for  the  first  time  I  saw  the 
face  of  a  boy  between  the  woman  and  Mac.  His 
lips  was  open  and  there  was  a  guarded  look  of 


UGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER   239 

anxiety  in  his  black  eyes.  But  he  too  was  a  Cree 
and  held  onto  himse'f. 

Big  Rock,  anxious,  I  rckoned,  to  follow  up  his 
luck,  lit  his  own  pipe  and  drew  the  smoke  deep  into 
his  lungs.  When  it  come  through  his  thin  lips  one 
word  come  with  it.  "No,"  he  said,  and  passed  his 
pipe  to  Medicine  Elk. 

I  liked  him  better  for  his  answer,  and  I  could 
feel  the  woman  and  the  boy  let  down,  like.  I  took 
a  better  hold  of  myse'f.  The  excitement  of  the 
game  had  layed  hold  of  me ;  and  I  let  down,  too. 

Medicine  Elk  smoked,  and  when  the  pipe  went 
back  to  Big  Rock  you  wouldn't  know  there  had  been 
gambling  between  them.  Medicine  Elk  joked  and 
laughed  and  seemed  anxious  to  show  Big  Rock  and 
ourse'fs  special  attention.  He  filled  his  own  pipe 
with  tobacco  he  borrowed  from  Mac  and  passed  it 
without  even  a  look  at  the  pile  of  goods  behind  Big 
Rock  that  held  every  trinket,  every  bit  of  finery  and 
fur,  and  every  robe  he  had  owned.  Besides,  he  had 
no  hosses — not  even  one. 

We  left  before  Big  Rock  did.  I  hated  to  see  him 
pack  up  his  winnings,  especially  the  woman's  dress ; 
and  we  left  him  there  to  do  it  after  we  was  gone. 

I  got  to  thinking  of  old  Hi  Penney  at  the  Cross- 
ing while  Mac  made  a  fire  in  my  lodge.  Hi  gam- 
bled, or  folks  said  he  did.  He  went  to  the  river 
and  took  trips  on  steamboats  just  to  play  cards, 
they  said.  Nobody  had  any  use  for  Hi,  and  I  was 
half  afraid  of  him  and  never  let  him  talk  to  me. 
He  was  the  only  gambler  in  our  parts.  Folks  bet 
on  hoss  races  and  held  up  their  heads;  but  to  bet 
on  anything  else,  except  mebby  rifle-shooting,  was 
bad  business.  I  begun  to  wonder  at  the  way  they 
figured  it  out,  but  there  wa'n't  anybody  to  talk  to 


24Q        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

about  it.  Mac  gambled.  I'd  seen  him  win  a  hoss. 
Some  Injins  wouldn't  drink  liquor.  I  knowed  that. 
And  mebby  some  wouldn't  gamble.  I  reckoned  we 
was  about  even  on  that. 

The  storm  quit  when  the  sun  went  down,  leaving 
nigh  a  foot  of  snow  on  the  plains.  And  then  that 
night  the  wind  blew  hard,  so  that  when  morning 
come  there  was  drifts  and  long  stretches  without 
any  snow  to  speak  of.  But  it  was  cold  as  all  get 
out,  and  bright  again.  We  traded  some  that  day 
and  the  next.  We  was  beginning  to  get  some 
beaver  too,  though  not  many.  We  baled  up  the 
robes  as  fast  as  we  got  them,  and  I  begun  to  figure 
what  we'd  make  by  spring.  For  more  than  a  week 
we  traded  a  little  every  day.  Big  Rock  offered  the 
dress  of  Medicine  Elk's  woman  for  two  blankets, 
but  I  wouldn't  listen.  I  was  counting  the  days  till 
spring,  and  getting  more  and  more  anxious  to  make 
our  goods  count  in  trading. 

One  morning  Mac  come  to  the  lodge  before  day- 
light. "Come  with  us,"  he  said,  blowing  coals  and 
kindling  into  a  flame.  "Some  young  men  will  run 
buffalo  today — make  a  surround  and  then  run  the 
buffalo.  Eagle  needs  to  be  used  and  I  have  told 
them  to  bring  him  in  with  the  others." 

I  sat  up.  "Mac,"  I  says,  "I'm  tired  of  being  an 
Injin.  Let's  talk  English.  You  be  a  whiteman  for 
a  spell." 

He  smiled.  "Mak'  de  w'iteman  hout  de  Hinjin?" 
He  slapped  his  knee  and  laughed  aloud.  Then  he 
raised  up  and  put  his  hand  on  my  shoulder.  "No, 
ma  frien',"  he  said.  "Hl'm  never  see  dat,  me, 
nevair.  Mak'  de  Hinjin  hout  de  w'iteman?  Oui, 
Hl'm  see  dat  planty  tarn,  me." 

"Well,  you  won't  see  it  this  time,"  I  said,    I  bris- 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        241 

tied  like  a  porcupine.  "You'll  have  to  admit  that 
the  whiteman  is  the  best,  the  greatest  of  all  men. 
You  know  it,  don't  you?" 

He  rubbed  his  nose,  while  his  eyes  twinkled  with 
fun.  "Well,  mebby,"  he  says,  looking  straight  at 
me.  "She's  mak*  de  gun,  de  w'iteman.  But  she's 
pay  nodder  man  por  mak'  de  prayer  por  heem.  Ha, 
ha,  ha !  She's  f onny  man,  de  w'iteman,  ma  f adder's 
peop'.  No  tarn  to  smell  de  rose.  She's  mak'  de 
money,  money,  money;  but  smell  de  flower?  No 
tarn  por  dat  dam'  foolishness,  by  gar — no  tarn.  Yes, 
she's  greatest  man,  mebby." 

Then  he  says  in  Cree:  "Come,  Lone  Wolf,  let  us 
run  the  buffalo.  I  want  to  be  a  Cree  again." 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

Mac  had  his  way,  as  usual. 

The  hosses  was  fat  as  butter,  and  when  they  was 
fetched  in  some  of  them  was  right  frisky.  Eagle 
was  so  pretty  that  everybody  liked  him  and  talked 
about  him.  He  knowed  they  admired  him  and  cut 
up  and  acted  wild;  but  he  was  gentle  as  a  kitten, 
and  just  putting  on  dog. 

It  was  a  fine,  bright  morning,  and  more  than 
twenty  young  women  was  watching  us  as  we  set  out. 
There  was  thirty  of  us,  each  riding  a  hoss  and  lead- 
ing another — the  one  we  was  saving  for  the  run. 
Most  everybody  rode  a  pad  or  buffalo  saddle,  though 
some  rode  bare-backed  with  only  a  rope  on  their 
hosses'  jaws.  I  saw  Bluebird  and  waved  my  rifle 
at  her.  She  had  an  eagle  feather  in  her  hand  and 
she  held  it  up  and  waved  it,  and  looked  tickled. 

"We  will  follow  you  with  the  travois,"  a  young 
woman  said.  And  then  they  all  laughed,  for  they 
knowed  that  if  we  made  a  killing  their  mothers 
would  be  with  them  if  they  followed  the  hunt. 

We  rode  around  the  village,  the  young  men  and 
Mac  singing  and  carrying  on  to  show  off,  while  the 
young  women  laughed  and  joked  us.  A  young  man 
named  Big  Sky  turned  around  on  his  hoss  to  ride 
backward,  but  the  hoss  didn't  like  it  and  before  he 
could  get  straightened  out  he  was  on  the  ground. 
How  the  young  women  laughed!  Big  Sky  got  up 
and  danced  while  somebody  caught  up  his  hosses 
again.  And  that's  the  way  it  went — round  and 
round  the  village,  everybody  full  of  fun  and  frolic. 
We  passed  close  to  Bluebird  and  she  stepped  put 

242 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        243 

and  caught  hold  of  Eagle's  f  oretop.  I  held  up,  and 
she  braided  the  feather  in  Eagle's  mane,  him  pre- 
tending he  was  afraid  of  her.  I  thanked  her  and 
give  her  a  smile.  Then  I  went  on  to  catch  up  with 
Mac.  And  first  I  knowed  I  was  singing,  myse'f. 

Directly,  like  it  was  planned  to  surprise  the  young 
women,  we  dashed  away  up  the  Marias,  looking  for 
a  herd  of  buffalo.  I  could  hear  the  young  women 
singing  for  more'n  a  mile,  till  the  sound  finally  died 
away.  I  felt  right  good;  and  the  plains  looked  so 
far-spread  and  free  that  I  took  back  some  of  the 
things  I'd  thought  of  them.  But  not  all. 

We  talked  and  cut  up  and  rode  pretty  fast  till  we 
saw  a  herd  of  buffalo  away  off  on  the  plains  towards 
the  east.  It  was  mighty  pretty  to  see.  The  plains, 
lit  up  by  the  morning  sun,  yellowish-brown,  with 
the  dry  grass  striped  with  long  narrow  snow-drifts 
crusted  hard  as  ice,  seemed  to  be  without  end.  And 
as  far  as  I  could  see  the  Missouri's  course  was 
clean-marked  by  leafless  cottonwoods.  I  thought 
of  the  morning  I  first  saw  it,  from  the  hilltop  nigh 
St.  Louis,  and  tried  to  imagine  leaves  on  the  trees, 
and  flowers.  But  I  couldn't.  That's  the  way  of  the 
plains.  They  hold  you  to  theirse'fs.  There's  no 
time  but  the  present  on  the  plains,  and  the  hour 
itse'f  is  so  plumb  full  of  wonder  or  fun  or  beauty 
or  misery,  or  something  that  no  other  place  offers 
the  same  way,  that  you  can't  mope  in  the  past  or 
dream  about  the  future. 

We  stopped  and  divided  into  two  parties  and 
then  set  out  again  towards  the  buffalo,  one  party 
turning  to  the  right  a  little  and  the  other  to  the  left, 
in  order  to  surround  the  herd.  When  we  was  nigh 
we  got  down  and  changed  hosses.  Eagle  was  so 
keen  to  run  that  he  mighty  nigh  broke  up  the  hunt. 


244        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

He  bolted  twice  and  I  had  all  I  could  do  to  hold  him 
in. 

But  it  wa'n't  long  till  the  parties  was  in  position, 
and  we  charged  straight  at  the  herd,  closing  in 
around  it  on  all  sides.  I  killed  one,  a  young  bull; 
and  twenty  others  must  have  been  killed  before  the 
herd  broke  away  and  stampeded.  Buffalo  is  fool- 
ish animals.  Once  they  get  started  they  won't  turn 
but  run  straight  ahead.  That's  why  the  Injins  can 
run  them  the  way  they  do. 

I  had  trouble  reloading.  Just  as  I'd  managed  it, 
Mac  called  to  me.  He'd  wheeled  his  hoss  to  run  the 
buffalo,  and  I  followed. 

Eagle  raced  away,  past  Mac,  and  alongside  of  a 
fat  cow.  I  poked  the  rifle-barrel  close  to  her  and 
pulled  the  trigger.  At  the  crack  of  the  gun  Eagle 
sprung  to  one  side,  mighty  nigh  upsetting  me.  I 
thought  he'd  shied  at  the  shot;  but  he  hadn't.  He 
was  only  looking  out  for  himse'f .  I  begun  to  try  to 
reload,  the  wind  blowing  my  powder  away  f aster'n 
I  could  pour  it  out.  And  after  a  dozen  tries  I  got 
loaded.  We  was  tight  alongside  of  another  cow, 
going  lickety-split.  I  cut  loose  and  she  went  down. 
Eagle  dodged,  and  none  too  quick,  for  he'd  have  run 
into  her  if  he  hadn't.  I  was  ahead  of  all  the  run- 
ners. Eagle,  never  stopping,  laid  himse'f  close  to 
another  buffalo.  But  it  wa'n't  worth  while  killing 
him.  I  couldn't  load  fast  enough,  and  I  was  losing 
too  much  powder.  I  pulled  him  up.  Mac  sailed 
past  with  two  arrows  in  his  mouth  and  one  on  his 
bow-string.  Eagle  pawed  and  whinnied  and  wanted 
to  go  on,  but  I  got  down  and  petted  his  head.  He 
shook  his  mane,  mad  as  all  get  out;  and  the  eagle- 
feather  come  off.  I  picked  it  up  and  fixed  it  back 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        245 

again,  while  I  watched  the  chase  for  more  than  two 
miles.    Then  I  started  back. 

A  rifle  wa'n't  any  account  running  buffalo,  not 
compared  to  a  bow  and  arrows.  I  could  see  that. 
They  was  too  heavy  and  awkward  to  load  on  a  run- 
ning hoss.  Even  a  pistol  was  better,  I  figured. 

I  passed  a  lot  of  buffalo,  some  not  quite  dead,  and 
some  down  and  quiet,  and  others  walking  around 
sick  as  all  get  out  with  three  or  four  arrows  deep  in 
their  paunches.  I  shot  one  crippled  bull  that  was 
war-like,  but  most  of  them  that  was  wounded  I 
knowed  would  die.  I  wondered  how  long  Mac 
would  follow  the  herd,  how  long  his  hoss  would  last, 
and  if  I'd  ought  to  wait  a  spell. 

I  sat  down  on  a  dead  cow.  Her  body  was  warm 
and  made  a  comfortable  seat.  I  couldn't  see  the 
runners  any  longer.  They  had  gone  over  a  ridge 
on  the  plains.  I  begun  to  watch  the  wolves  come 
up  to  feed  on  the  kill.  There  was  hundreds  of 
them.  No  wonder  the  travois  had  to  come  quick. 
One  old  dog-wolf,  whose  ears  was  gnawed  off  close 
to  his  head,  snuffling  and  smelling  at  the  cow  I  was 
sitting  on,  come  up  so  close  that  I  could  see  the  cen- 
ter spot  in  his  yellow  eyes.  Likely  he  thought  I 
ought  to  get  up  and  go  away  from  there.  I  reck- 
oned I'd  kill  him.  But  before  I  touched  the  trigger 
I  thought  mebby  he  had  a  right  to  take  whatever  he 
could  get  like  the  rest  of  us ;  and  that  saved  a  charge 
of  powder  and  a  ball. 

Eagle  cropped  the  grass  while  I  sat  there  and 
held  the  rope.  But  I  couldn't  see  anything  of  Mac. 
I  was  getting  chilly  sitting  still,  and  finally  went  on 
towards  the  place  where  we  had  rode  at  the  herd. 
Dead  buffalo  was  plenty  all  the  way,  and  when  I 
got  to  where  we  had  made  the  surround  I  counted 


246        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

twenty-two  on  less  than  an  acre.  I  found  the 
young  bull  I'd  shot  and  skinned  and  dressed  him. 
He  was  fat  and  all  I  needed  for  myse'f.  By  the 
time  I  had  the  job  done  Mac  and  some  others  was 
in  sight.  And  the  travois  was  coming  too. 

Bluebird  was  with  the  first  to  come  up.  "How 
many  are  yours,  Lone  Wolf  ?"  she  asked,  like  she 
hoped  nigh  all  of  them  was  mine. 

I  hated  to  tell  her. 

"Only  three,"  I  says.  "My  rifle  is  too  hard  to  load 
on  a  running  horse." 

She  noticed  the  change  in  the  eagle  feather  and 
touched  it  with  her  fingers.  "It  come  off  and  I  put 
it  back,"  I  told  her. 

She  unbraided  Eagle's  mane  and  did  the  job  over 
again,  so  that  the  feather  stuck  up  and  looked 
pretty. 

"You  will  find  two  cows  along  the  line  of  the  run 
— cows  that  are  shot,"  I  says.  "They  are  yours. 
This  bull  will  be  all  that  I  shall  need.  I  have  meat 
enough.  Shall  I  help  you  find  them?" 

"No,  no,"  she  objected.  "But  you  are  kind  to 
me." 

Was  there  ever  another  voice  like  hers?  I  thought. 

"See,"  she  said,  "the  young  men  are  waiting. 
They  have  caught  your  other  horse  for  you  to  ride 
to  the  village."  Her  eyes  looked  so  happy  when  she 
said,  "Men  are  warriors  and  hunters.  Travois  be- 
long to  the  women.  I  would  not  have  you  help. 
And  see,  my  mother  is  coming.  She  will  think  me 
lazy  for  talking  so  long." 

She  led  the  travois-hoss  a  little  way  towards  the 
center  of  the  kill ;  and  I  led  Eagle  to  where  Mac  and 
the  others  was  waiting,  and  got  on  my  other  hoss. 

The  young  men  was  happy  as  we  rode  off  to  the 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        247 

village,  leaving  the  women  and  some  old  men  to  take 
care  of  the  meat  they  had  let  lie  where  it  fell.  I  got 
to  thinking  about  it.  They  had  all  the  fun  and  the 
women  did  the  work,  it  seemed  to  me. 

But  directly  I  remembered  that  the  men  had 
something  to  do,  theirse'fs.  I  figured  that  to  take 
care  of  a  family,  feed  it  and  fight  for  it  like  a  wolf, 
was  a  considerable  chore.  And  when  I  thought  how 
most  In j  ins  used  bows  and  arrows,  even  to  fight,  I 
reckoned  it  took  a  good  man  to  do  it.  To  rustle  a 
living  in  all  seasons  and  in  all  kinds  of  weather 
with  an  arrow  or  a  lance  was  more  than  I  wanted 
to  tackle,  let  alone  being  jumped  by  enemies  a  dozen 
times  in  a  year. 

The  women  worked  hard.  I  knowed  that.  Dress- 
ing robes,  making  clothes,  drying  meat,  and  raising 
children ;  but  all  that  was  offset  by  the  dangers  and 
hardships  of  the  hunt  and  war,  I  figured.  Even  to 
ride  as  the  men  rode  after  buffalo  was  to  take  des- 
perate chances,  and  they  had  to  keep  fit  for  fight 
every  minute,  which  they  did.  I'd  seen  them  in  the 
icy  water  of  mornings  and  their  sweat-lodges  was 
too  much  for  me.  They  could  stand  more  than  any 
men  I'd  ever  knowed;  and  only  work  can  keep  men 
fit.  The  reason  the  women  seemed  to  be  doing  the 
biggest  share  was  that  when  the  men  got  to  camp 
they  was  through,  but  the  women  didn't  ever  get 
through.  That  was  it — the  women  always  had  a 
chore  ahead.  Even  Bluebird's  finger  nails  was  al- 
ways broke,  half  spoiling  the  prettiest-shaped  hand 
I  ever  saw,  and  she  was  always  busy  at  something. 

Then  I  evened  it  up  in  my  mind  by  counting  up 
the  blind  eyes  and  scars  and  broken  bones  among 
the  men.  It  seemed  to  me  that  there  wa'n't  much 
loafing  on  either  side;  but  nobody  was  complaining. 


248        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

Before  I  let  Eagle  go  out  with  the  herd  I  took  the 
eagle  feather  from  his  mane  and  hung  it  on  the  side 
of  my  head-silk.  Then  I  give  him  a  little  salt  and 
let  him  go.  He  wa'n't  tired,  but  was  frisky  as  ever ; 
and  he  had  more  friends  in  the  village  than  I  did. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

Mac  and  I  sat  by  the  lodge-fire  that  night  and 
talked  of  the  hunt.  "You  should  learn  to  use  the 
bow,"  he  says.  "It  is  the  best  weapon  in  running 
the  buffalo.  You  have  a  good  wrist  and  a  strong 
arm.  Dad  could  use  the  bow.  I  have  heard  them 
tell  that  his  arrows  sank  deep.  I  will  teach  you. 
The  rifle  is  not  for  running  buffalo.  The  bow  is 
best.  It  is  a  silent  weapon,  Lone  Wolf.  When  its 
arrows  go  upon  their  missions  they  startle  none  but 
their  victims.  The  rifle  cries  aloud  that  a  ball  is 
coming.  And  even  though  one  may  not  hear  it  in 
time  it  startles  the  rest  that  are  near.  It  even 
wakes  the  echoes  that  drive  the  game  away  too  soon. 
It  is  great  in  war  and  to  kill  far  off.  But  the  bow 
is  best  for  running  the  buffalo." 

I  thought  he  was  right  and  told  him  so.  But  I 
knowed  it  took  practice  to  use  a  bow. 

"See,"  he  said,  showing  his  wrist  that  was  cut 
and  bleeding  a  little.  "I  lost  my  wrist-guard  and 
my  bow-string  wounded  me  today.  Old  Crooked 
Horns,"  he  laughed,  "is  wonderful.  He  beat  me, 
killing  fifteen  buffalo.  And  he  is  old.  But  his  arm 
and  wrist  are  like  the  iron  of  the  whiteman  and 
feel  not  the  strain  of  bending  his  powerful  bow. 
Crooked  Horns  will  not  use  an  iron  point  on  his 
arrow.  He  still  makes  his  arrow  points  of  bone  as 
did  his  father  before  the  whiteman  came.  He  is 
old — more  than,  seventy-five  snows  he  has  seen.  Yet 
he  will  use  nothing  made  by  the  whiteman.  His 
dreams  have  told  him  that  whitemen  are  his  ene- 
mies. He  is  a  great  hunter  and  a  brave  warrior, 

249 


250        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

is  Crooked  Horns.  He  ran  the  buffalo  alone  today, 
and  to  westward  of  the  Marias." 

That  is  their  way,  always,  to  own  up  to  a  beat- 
ing. We  do  not  always  do  it. 

"How  shall  we  go  down  the  river  with  our  fur 
and  robes?"  I  asked,  thinking  of  the  spring. 

"We  could  make  bull-boats,  but  they  are  not  good 
for  such  a  trip.  Let  us  travel  by  land  to  the  Post 
at  the  mouth  of  the  Yellowstone  with  horses  and 
mules,  and  trade  them  for  a  mackinaw  if  we  can." 

"Two  of  us  will  not  be  enough  for  such  a  trip,"  I 
says,  thinking  how  Dad  waited  for  Alex  and  Jake 
before  coming  on  to  the  Marias. 

"That  is  true,"  he  answered,  "but  there  are  Wood- 
pecker and  Spotted  Elk  and  Standing  Bear.  They 
are  brothers-in-law  of  mine  and  I  know  that  they 
are  good,  brave  men.  I  can  get  them  to  go  with  us 
when  the  time  comes." 

I  thought  he  was  right.  "When  do  you  think  we 
can  finish  trading  and  go?"  I  asked. 

"When  the  ice  goes  from  the  river  and  the  water 
begins  to  rise,"  he  said.  "We  must  start  soon  after 
that  and  travel  fast.  The  country  is  not  good  for 
travellers.  Often  there  are  many  Indians  between 
this  place  and  the  mouth  of  the  Yellowstone.  They 
are  at  war  with  strangers.  And  farther  down 
along  the  river  the  whitemen  are  not  all  honest. 
Some  there  are  who  would  plunder  us  if  they  could." 

I  knowed  he  was  right;  and  I  thought  of  such  as 
Mike  Fink;  but  he'd  been  a  pardner  of  mine,  and  I 
didn't  speak  his  name,  even  to  Mac. 

"Shall  you  come  back  to  the  plains,  Lone  Wolf?" 
Mac's  voice  was  always  low-toned,  but  now  I  hardly 
heered  him. 

I  didn't  want  to  hurt  him.    "I  do  not  know.  Lit- 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        251 

tie  Knife,"  I  says.  "Sometimes  I  think  I  shall  not 
come  back."  And  that  was  the  truth. 

He  moved  the  sticks  in  the  fire.  The  days  had 
been  getting  longer  and  I  had  noticed  too  that  the 
nights  wa'n't  so  long.  Spring  wa'n't  so  far  away. 
We  sat  silent,  each  with  his  own  thoughts,  when 
suddenly  there  was  a  great  stir  in  the  village.  Dogs 
was  howling. 

"Hark!"  Mac  raised  to  his  knees  with  his  hand 
behind  his  ear.  I  thought  of  the  night  in  the 
stockade  and  stood  up. 

Men  was  calling  tp  each  other.  Mac  bolted  into 
the  dark  with  me  at  his  heels.  We  couldn't  see  any- 
thing at  first.  The  light  of  our  lodge-fire  was  still 
in  our  eyes.  Men  was  mounting  their  hosses. 
"What  is  the  matter?"  Mac  asked  a  man  who  I  saw 
was  Fish  Hawk. 

"The  Blackfeet  have  stolen  many  horses  and 
wounded  Three  Leggings,"  he  says.  "We  are  going 
after  our  horses." 

"Let  us  go  with  them,  Little  Knife,"  I  says. 
"Maybe  they  have  stolen  some  of  ours." 

They'd  killed  Dad.  Hate  layed  hold  of  me,  and  I 
felt  like  I  did  that  morning  at  the  gate  with  Caley 
Byers,  only  worse. 

"They  have  taken  two  of  your  mules  and  several 
of  your  horses,  the  herders  say." 

It  was  Red  Robe  who  answered.  Bluebird  was 
by  his  side,  but  I  hardly  saw  her.  I  was  thinking 
of  Eagle.  What  if  they'd  got  him!  I  run  into  the 
lodge  for  my  rifle,  feeling  mighty  anxious,  and  from 
there  to  the  rope  corral,  half  afraid  I  wouldn't  find 
him. 

But  I  spotted  him,  quicker'n  you  could  wink,  and 
felt  glad  all  over,  while  I  caught  him  up  and  got  my 


252        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

pad  on  him.  "We'll  get  even,  little  boss!"  I  says, 
swinging  onto  him,  and  I  rode  up  to  where  Mac  and 
nigh  fifty  more  under  Yellow  Bear  was  ready  to  go. 

The  night  wa'n't  cold;  and  excepting  patches  of 
crusted  snow  and  a  few  drifts  that  the  coulees  shel- 
tered, the  plains  was  bare.  The  Northern  Lights 
was  playing  on  the  sky  northward  towards  Hud- 
son's Bay,  spreading  up  and  out  like  a  fan.  There 
wa'n't  any  moon,  so  that  Oo-check-a-tuck,  the  Big 
Dipper,  was  'specially  plain.  Every  star  was  out 
and  the  sky  plumb  peppered  with  them,  some  look- 
ing bigger  than  usual  and  some  so  little  and  dim 
you  couldn't  hardly  make  them  out. 

The  wind  was  out  of  the  west,  but  not  very 
strong,  when  we  crossed  the  Marias  and  whipped 
up.  Some  scouts  was  ahead  of  us.  I  could  see  them 
dim  under  the  stars.  After  crossing  the  stream  we 
rode  faster.  The  Blackfeet  wa'n't  half  an  hour 
ahead  of  us  and  we  figured  on  overhauling  them, 
they  having  to  drive  the  stolen  bosses. 

But  for  more  than  an  hour  we  didn't  see  hide  nor 
hair  of  them.  I  was  beginning  to  reckon  they'd 
got  away,  when  from  the  top  of  a  knoll  two  scouts 
sighted  the  flying  pony  band  and  waited  till  we 
come  up.  Yellow  Bear  sent  ten  men  straight  after 
them,  and  the  rest  of  us  turned  off  to  try  to  ride 
around  the  stolen  pony  band  and  head  it  back. 

I  leaned  low  over  Eagle's  neck.  "Now!"  I  says, 
and  let  plumb  loose  of  the  rope.  He  knowed  what 
was  wanted;  and  I  begun  to  draw  away  from  the 
rest.  I  passed  the  ten  Crees  and  come  abreast  of 
the  Blackfeet.  An  arrow  zipped  in  front  of  my 
face.  I  felt  the  wind  of  its  feathers  and  bent  lower. 
The  Blackfeet  was  yelling.  Shots  flashed  behind 
the  pony  band.  They  cracked  loud  above  the  steady 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        253 

roar  of  pounding  hoofs.  But  if  they  was  shooting 
at  me  I  didn't  know  it,  nor  care. 

The  Crees  was  behind  me  and  coming,  but  Eagle 
was  gaining  on  the  band  at  every  jump.  I'd  passed 
the  Blackf eet  and  was  abreast  of  the  trailers  in  the 
pony  band,  when  an  arrow  pinned  my  shirt  sleeve 
to  my  pad,  thud!  I  reached  over  and  broke  the 
shaft  to  free  my  arm.  I'd  get  me  one  of  them  yet, 
if  only  I  could  turn  the  pony  band.  I  thought  of 
Mike  Fink — even  excusing  him  for  notching  his 
rifle-stock.  Then  I  touched  Eagle's  sides  with  my 
heels.  The  wind  whistled  in  my  hair.  I  was  creep- 
ing up,  up,  up,  as  steady  as  a  clock  ticks  and  as  sure. 
"Oh,  stand  it,  little  man!  stand  it  for  old  Dad's 
sake!"  I  whispered,  and  felt  myse'f  tighten  up  to 
he'p  him.  The  leaders  of  the  band  wa'n't  far  ahead. 
I  gathered  my  rope  to  be  ready  to  swing  him,  and 
untied  my  shirt.  Only  three  more  to  pass — only 
two — only  one — but  they  was  so  close-bunched  I 
daren't  cut  in  between  them,  lest  I  make  a  fizzle  of 
it.  I  got  one  arm  out  of  my  shirt,  then  pulled  it 
off.  It  was  like  I'd  spurred  him.  He  sprung  for- 
ward and  a  fleck  of  hot  foam  struck  my  cheek.  His 
nose  went  ahead  of  the  leader's  like  he  was  standing 
still.  I  swung  my  shirt  over  my  head  and  yelled. 
The  leader  swerved  off  and  turned  back  towards 
the  Marias  with  the  whole  band  at  his  heels.  He'd 
done  it.  The  little  hoss  had  beat  them  all ! 

"Lone  Wolf !  Lone  Wolf !"  they  cried  behind  me. 
And  the  Crees  come  thundering  up,  sweeping  the 
pony  band  with  them. 

But  with  the  runaway  band  turned,  the  Blackfeet 
was  trapped.  There  was  shots  and  shouts  and  war 
clubs  swinging  and  arrows  zipping  like  all  get  out, 


254        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

and  the  Blackfeet  broke  and  ran  in  every  direction, 
followed  by  Crees. 

I  pulled  up.  I  wa'n't  going  to  kill  Eagle,  even  to 
get  me  a  Blackfoot.  And  in  less  time  than  I  can 
say  it  in  I  was  plumb  alone.  It  seemed  like  I'd 
been  lifted  in  a  second  out  of  a  whirling,  yelling 
bedlam  and  dropped  down  in  a  still  place  that  no 
living  man  had  ever  seen.  I  heered  two  or  three 
shots,  but  they  was  faint  and  far  off.  Eagle's  sides 
was  heaving,  so  I  got  down  to  walk  and  rest  him. 
The  wind  come  in  little  gusts  and  when  I  stepped 
on  spots  of  snow  the  crust  broke  and  made  a  noise. 
The  Northern  Lights  had  quit  playing,  but  there 
was  still  a  greenish  glow  on  the  sky  to  northward 
when  I  set  out  for  the  Marias,  wondering  if  Mac 
was  all  right  and  wishing  he  was  with  me.  But  if 
he  had  followed  the  Blackfeet  I  couldn't  have  hoped 
to  overtake  him. 

I  figured  that  I'd  turn  and  cut  south  a  little,  keep- 
ing a  sharp  look-out  around  me.  Directly  I  saw 
four  little  knots  on  the  rim  of  a  knolltop  between 
me  and  the  sky.  I  stopped  and  watched  them.  One 
of  them  moved  a  little  and  then  I  knowed  they  was 
only  wolves  and  went  on. 

I  crossed  the  knoll,  stopping  to  look  and  listen  on 
its  top.  But  there  wa'n't  a  sound,  only  the  wind, 
so  I  started  on.  Suddenly,  though,  Eagle  stopped 
in  his  tracks.  His  ears  was  pricked  forward  and 
his  nostrils  working  like  a  dog's.  I  heered  a  hoss 
coming  over  the  frozen  ground  and  cocked  my  rifle. 
Directly  I  could  see  him.  He  was  headed  straight 
for  me.  But  he  turned  off  at  the  foot  of  the  knoll 
and  I  made  out  that  he  was  a  loose  hoss  trailing  a 
rope.  He  was  out  of  sight  almost  as  soon  as  I  saw 
him,  but  I  heered  him  for  quite  a  spell.  When  I 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        255 

started  on  I  was  mighty  careful.  Somebody  was 
down  and  afoot.  I  knowed  that;  and  I  reckoned  I 
might  meet  up  with  him. 

Directly  I  come  to  a  little  knoll  with  a  flat  place 
on  its  top.  Right  at  the  edge  of  the  flat  both  Eagle 
and  I  stopped  sudden,  like  we  was  grabbed  and 
held.  Something  moved  just  ahead.  It  was  against 
the  background  of  a  higher  knoll.  I  couldn't  make 
it  out.  Directly  it  moved  again.  And  then  I  saw 
another  black  form  stir  and  bend  over.  It  was  a 
man.  They  was  both  men.  I  cocked  my  rifle  and 
squatted,  quiet,  just  as  they  rushed  together  and 
clinched,  bending  and  twisting.  They  was  coming 
my  way.  I  rested  my  elbows  on  my  knee,  ready. 
They  stopped,  straining  like  pulling  hosses.  I  could 
hear  their  panting  breath  and  smell  blood.  An  arm 
raised  up  and  went  down,  thud! 

"Ahh!  dog  of  a  Blackfoot!" 

The  words  was  gasped  out,  and  they  was  Cree. 

The  two  was  stone-still  a  minute.  Then  they 
staggered  apart  for  wind  like  two  fighting  dogs  that 
won't  quit.  Both  was  naked  and  so  blind  with  hate 
that  a  buffalo  herd  could  have  passed  unnoticed. 
One  laughed,  the  one  nighest  to  me,  and  cold  shivers 
went  up  my  backbone.  It  was  like  a  whip-lash  to 
the  other.  He  rushed  and  they  clinched  again.  I 
couldn't  tell  which  was  the  Cree. 

For  a  moment  they  struggled,  trying  to  stab,  but 
not  moving  either  way.  Then  they  come  on,  one, 
the  laugher,  being  forced  backward  and  backward, 
his  breath  hissing  in  his  awful  effort  to  hold  his 
ground,  till  his  heels  was  plumb  against  a  sage- 
bush.  I  held  my  breath.  Was  it  the  Cree? 

There  was  a  sudden  lunge  and  they  went  over,  the 
laugher  underneath,  not  ten  feet  away,  and  heads 


256        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

towards  me.  I  could  hear  my  own  heart  beat.  My 
finger  was  on  the  trigger.  Which  was  the  Cree?  I 
had  to  know. 

The  man  on  top  begun  to  raise  his  knife,  slow. 
I  saw  it  plain  when  he  wiped  the  blood  from  his 
eyes  with  his  bare  arm,  and  the  stain  on  his  wrist. 
Words  muttered  with  burning  hate  come  from  be- 
tween his  teeth.  They  wa'n't  Cree  words!  And  I 
pulled  the  trigger.  Eagle  jumped  at  the  flash  of  the 
gun,  and  the  man  with  the  knife  rolled  over.  I'd 
got  my  Blackfoot  'thout  trying. 

I  stood  up  and  commenced  to  reload,  watching 
the  two  forms  on  the  ground.  One  moved,  the  one 
that  had  laughed,  the  Cree.  "How!"  I  says,  prim- 
ing my  rifle  pan. 

"How,  how!  Paok  Mah-he-ean!" 

The  voice  was  weak.  I  went  over  to  his  side  and 
lifted  his  head.  It  was  Yellow  Bear. 

"Rest,"  I  says.    "I  will  wait  while  you  rest." 

But  he  sat  up  and  looked  at  his  enemy.  "That 
was  a  great  warrior,"  he  said,  his  voice  full  of  ad- 
miration. "He  was  brave  and  strong.  I  shall  take 
his  scalp  when  I  have  rested." 

He  was  bleeding  bad,  and  I  counted  his  hurts,  six 
of  them — two  arrows  and  four  knife-wounds, 
enough  to  kill  two  ordinary  men. 

I  cut  up  my  shirt  and  bound  up  his  cuts  the  best 
I  could  so  as  to  stop  some  of  the  blood. 

"My  life  belongs  to  you,  Lone  Wolf,"  he  says. 
And  directly  he  got  to  his  feet. 

"Get  on  my  horse,"  I  urged  him. 

But  he  took  the  scalp  of  the  dead  Blackfoot,  and 
turning  towards  the  Marias,  says,  "No,  I  am  strong. 
I  will  walk.  It  was  the  white  horse  that  turned  the 
stolen  band.  Let  him  rest." 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        257 

So  we  walked  slow,  looking  out  for  bosses  as  we 
went.  "Fish  Hawk  is  dead,"  said  Yellow  Bear, 
after  a  long  silence.  "There  will  be  mourning  in 
the  village.  But  you  are  now  a  warrior,  Lone  Wolf, 
and  my  life  belongs  to  you." 

"It  was  chance,"  I  told  him,  "just  chance  that  led 
me  towards  you  while  you  fought.  I  was  not  guided 
by  sounds." 

"No,  it  was  not  chance,  Lone  Wolf,"  he  said.  And 
he  meant  it.  "It  was  to  be  so.  It  was  not  my  time 
to  die,  although  I  thought  that  it  was.  Let  us  rest. 
I  am  dizzy." 

We  sat  down  in  a  coulee  out  of  the  wind  that  was 
freshening  some,  and  Yellow  Bear  filled  and  lit  his 
war-pipe.  "Smoke,  brother,  warrior,"  he  said. 

And  I  took  it  from  his  hand.  Somehow  I  sud- 
dently  felt  like  I  was  part  of  the  plains — like  I  had 
always  been  a  plainsman,  and  wanted  to  stay  one! 

The  stars  was  fading  out  of  the  sky.  Day  wa'n't 
far  off.  I  wished  it  would  come  on.  I  knowed 
Yellow  Bear  was  bad  off  and  suffering,  though  he 
didn't  whimper.  I  covered  him  with  a  robe  that 
was  under  Eagle's  pad  and  went  up  on  the  top  of  a 
ridge  to  look  for  Crees.  I  knowed  they  would  soon 
be  hunting  for  us.  The  sky  was  showing  day  and 
the  wind  was  coming  stronger  and  from  the  east. 
I  was  cold  without  my  shirt,  but  I  thought  how  Yel- 
low Bear  had  called  me  warrior,  and  stood  the  wind 
on  my  bare  hide  like  it  was  summer. 

I  could  see  the  Marias,  and  while  I  looked  hard  I 
saw  riders  coming.  I  didn't  wait  but  run  back  to 
Yellow  Bear.  "They  are  coming!"  I  cried;  and  he 
got  up,  but  wouldn't  get  on  Eagle  no  matter  how 
much  I  begged  him. 

The  Crees  had  reckoned  I'd  been  killed  and  Mac 


258        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

was  nigh  tickled  to  death  when  he  saw  me.  They 
led  Eagle  like  he  was  tribal  property  and  a  prize. 
I  felt  mighty  proud  and  I  don't  deny  it.  There 
never  was  a  better  little  hoss. 

We  rode  into  the  village  just  as  daylight  was  com- 
ing on.  Everybody  was  out.  Two  was  badly 
wounded  besides  Yellow  Bear,  and  Fish  Hawk  was 
dead.  But  they  sang  of  victory — even  Yellow  Bear. 
When  he  come  to  the  Chief's  lodge  he  stopped  and, 
still  lashed  to  his  hoss,  begun  to  talk  and  sing. 

"It  was  Lone  Wolf  who  turned  the  flying  horses ! 
It  was  Lone  Wolf  who  saved  my  life!  His  bullet 
went  straight  in  the  darkness  and  a  Blackf  oot  war- 
rior died !  Lone  Wolf  is  brave  and  a  warrior ;  my 
life  belongs  to  him.  Let  all  my  relations  remember 
him  as  my  brother !  I  have  finished." 

Then  he  rode  oif  to  his  lodge. 

Cracky!  I'll  never  again  feel  like  I  did  then.  I 
was  proud  a-plenty  and  grateful  too,  though  I 
hadn't  done  much  myse'f .  Eagle  did  the  most.  But 
I  didn't  say  so;  I  let  it  go. 

A  bright  fire  was  burning  in  the  Chief's  lodge  and 
the  old  man  stepped  out.  "How!  Lone  Wolf,  war- 
rior!" he  says,  and  he  handed  me  a  painted  robe 
while  a  lot  of  young  men  and  women  looked  and 
smiled,  as  happy  as  I  was.  They  crowded  around 
me,  all  talking  at  once.  But  I  got  down  and  made 
my  way  to  my  lodge  with  Eagle.  I  would  cover  him 
with  robes  and  keep  him  near  me. 

When  I  come  out  with  the  robes  Bluebird  was  by 
his  side,  emptying  a  robeful  of  grass  on  the  ground 
at  his  feet. 

"I  heard  of  your  wonderful  ride  before  you 
reached  the  village,"  she  said.  "See,  I  have  cut 
grass  for  your  Eagle,  that  so  great  a  horse  may 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        259 

feast."  She  put  her  little  hand  on  his  neck  and  he 
went  after  the  grass  greedily. 

"Thank  you,"  I  said,  tying  a  robe  over  Eagle's 
back.  I  couldn't  think  of  anything  worth  while  to 
say. 

She  begun  to  braid  Eagle's  mane,  looking  over 
his  neck  at  me.  "I  heard  what  Yellow  Bear  said 
and  saw  Big  Bear  give  you  the  painted  robe,"  she 
told  me.  And  there  was  pride  in  her  eyes  when 
she  looked  down  at  the  grass  she  had  cut.  She  be- 
gun another  braid,  her  fingers  working  swift  and 
without  the  guide  of  her  glance.  "Yellow  Bear  is 
my  father's  youngest  brother,  Lone  Wolf,  warrior; 
and  I  am  proud  that  you  are  my  friend."  Her  voice 
barely  reached  me  across  Eagle's  white  neck. 

I  leaned  forwards  sudden  and  reached  for  her 
hand,  but  she  drew  it  away.  "Come  into  my  lodge, 
Bluebird,"  I  begged.  "Come,  and  pick  what  you 
will  for  a  present." 

"No,  no,"  she  said,  stepping  backward.  "I  can- 
not," looking  straight  into  my  eyes.  "I  must  go 
now.  But  my  father  would  be  glad  to  see  you  in 
his  lodge  to  talk  and  smoke  with  you  and  hear  you 
tell  of  your  ride  and  the  fight.  You  are  hungry." 
She  moved  towards  me  again  and  her  voice  fell  to 
that  tone  I  liked  so  well.  "There  is  no  fire  in  your 
lodge,  no  meat,"  she  said.  "Will  you  come  to  my 
father's  lodge  now?"  She  was  backing  away  again, 
still  looking  into  my  eyes.  How  pretty  she  was, 
and  how  little !  "Shall  I  tell  my  father  that  you  are 
coming?"  she  asked,  and  turned  away  from  me. 

"Yes,"  I  told  her.     "I  will  come." 

My  arm  was  around  Eagle's  neck  and  I  watched 
her  go  to  her  father's  lodge  and  disappear  inside. 

When  she  was  gone  Mac  raised  his  lodge  door 


260        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

and  stepped  out.  "How!  Lone  Wolf,  warrior!" 
He  came  to  me.  "I  would  have  been  first  to  greet 
you,"  he  said,  "but  an  arrow  wounded  my  arm  and 
my  woman  was  binding  it  up."  He  held  out  his  arm, 
but  I  knowed  why  he  hadn't  come  to  me  sooner  and 
wondered  if  he'd  heered  what  Bluebird  had  said. 

"I  am  going  to  Red  Robe's  lodge  to  feast,"  I  told 
him,  half  daring  him  to  smile  or  plague  me.  But 
he  tightened  the  thongs  that  held  Eagle's  robe  and 
when  he  spoke  it  was  of  the  hoss  himse'f. 

"Nothing  can  beat  him,"  ha  says,  patting  his 
neck.  "I  feel  as  proud  as  yourself  over  his  great 
run.  I  shall  spend  the  night  with  you ;  but  you  will 
be  long  at  Red  Robe's  lodge.  The  day  is  yet  young. 
Do  not  hurry.  I  shall  have  a  fire  waiting  for  you 
when  you  have  feasted." 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

There  never  was  a  more  comfortable  lodge  than 
Red  Robe's.  It  was  large  and  roomy  and  taller  than 
most  of  the  others.  Its  painted  lining  was  of 
dressed  elk  skins  smoked  to  a  rich  yellow  and  deco- 
rated with  pictures  of  the  old  warrior's  deeds  in 
war,  done  in  red  and  blue.  And  it  was  in  order; 
not  topsy-turvy  like  some  I'd  seen. 

There  was  parfleches  filled  with  pemmican — lean 
meat  cut  thin  and  dried  and  pounded  to  a  pulp,  with 
melted  back-fat  and  dried  berries  poured  on  it  and 
mixed.  It's  good  grub  to  do  a  hard  ride  on,  for  a 
little  of  it  goes  a  long  way  towards  keeping  a  man's 
stomach  from  gnawing.  There  was  three  bales  of 
prime  beaver  skins  done  up  fine,  to  pay  the  trader 
at  the  Ashley-Henry  Post  at  the  mouth  of  the  Yel- 
lowstone. They  was  the  first  things  he  showed  me, 
being  plumb  tickled  because  he  could  pay  for  the 
goods  he  had  bought  in  the  fall.  He  looked  mighty 
comfortable  leaning  against  his  willow  back-rest, 
his  weapons  ready  at  hand  and  his  family  about  his 
bright  fire.  Anybody  could  see  that  he  was  a  good 
provider  and  that  his  was  a  contented  household. 

The  women — his  woman  and  Bluebird  and  Sits- 
and-Sings — was  busy  making  moccasins.  The  other 
children  was  younger  and  was  hot  at  the  ring-and- 
arrow  game  when  I  come  in.  It  made  me  feel  right 
good  to  see  them ;  and  when  I  leaned  against  a  back- 
rest beside  Red  Robe  at  the  head  of  the  lodge  I  sure 
thought  I'd  never  before  been  in  so  cozy  a  place. 

We  feasted.  I  was  hungry  as  a  wolf  and  Blue- 
bird made  some  black  tea  that  was  better  than  any 

261 


262        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

I'd  ever  tasted.  Red  Robe  had  traded  for  the  tea 
at  a  Hudson's  Bay  Post  up  north.  It  was  strong 
and  had  a  fine  flavor. 

When  he  lit  the  pipe  and  passed  it  he  asked  me 
to  tell  the  story  of  the  race  to  turn  the  stolen  hosses 
and  about  the  fight.  I  told  it,  but  I  didn't  make  a 
long  yarn  of  it,  and  he  said  so.  He  told  me  that 
Yellow  Bear  was  bad  hurt  and  might  not  get  well. 
I  proposed  we  go  and  see  him  and  he  said  he  would 
go  with  me  after  we'd  finished  talking. 

He  spoke  to  Bluebird  and  she  fetched  a  parfleche 
to  him.  He  unlaced  it  and  spread  it  out  so  I  could 
see  what  was  in  it.  His  war-bonnet,  shirt,  leg- 
gings, fancy  bullet-pouch,  and  pretty  moccasins,  and 
a  lot  of  other  finery.  He  took  out  an  eagle's  wing, 
all  worked  with  colored  porcupine  quills  up  and 
down  the  quill  of  each  feather,  and  give  it  to  me. 
He  said  that  none  but  a  warrior  could  carry  such 
a  thing,  and  that  whenever  I  sat  with  warriors 
about  a  fire  I  had  a  right  to  hold  the  wing.  Next 
he  give  me  an  eagle  feather  to  put  in  my  hair  and 
showed  me  how  to  wear  it — crosswise,  or  sticking 
out  from  one  side  of  my  head.  That  meant  I'd 
killed  an  enemy  in  battle.  If  the  feather  was  worn 
straight  up  behind  the  head  it  meant  you'd  killed 
three  enemies  in  fight.  In  between  the  straight-up 
position  and  the  crosswise  showed  that  you'd  got 
two  enemies  in  close  conflict.  He  taught  me  the 
paint-marks  on  hosses  too,  and  I  was  surprised  to 
learn  that  each  had  a  meaning  of  its  own. 

We  smoked  two  pipes  and  then  he  showed  me  his 
leggings.  "Bluebird  made  these,"  he  says,  laying 
them  across  my  knees. 

They  was  beautiful  things.  The  design  and 
colors  beat  any  I'd  ever  seen,  and  I  said  so.  I  looked 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        263 

at  her,  but  her  head  was  bent  over  her  work  and 
her  needle  never  missed  a  lick,  nor  she  didn't  look 
up. 

"Where  did  you  learn  this  design,  Bluebird?"  I 
asked  her. 

She  stuck  her  needle  into  the  elk-skin  and  looked 
at  me.  Her  eyes  was  shining  like  her  mind  was 
full  of  words.  Her  father  smiled  good-natured  and 
nodded  like  he  would  listen  to  what  she  said. 

"Look,  Lone  Wolf,"  she  says,  "and  you  will  find 
it  and  others  as  beautiful.  They  are  everywhere — 
in  the  forests,  on  the  plains,  on  the  ice  when  the 
frost  has  worked  its  magic  under  the  moon,  and 
even  in  the  white  snow-flakes  that  fall  and  drifting 
deep,  make  life  a  battle." 

"But  the  colors?"  I  says.  "How  did  you  learn 
to  use  them  so  skillfully?" 

I  saw  her  bosom  rise  and  fall  quick.  She  wanted 
to  talk.  If  only  we  was  alone ! 

"Paok  Mah-he-can,  if  you  do  not  look  for  much 
you  will  see  but  little.  The  colors  are  upon  the 
plains  and  in  the  forests.  It  is  there  that  we  learn 
to  use  them.  Napa  has  painted  the  bird-people  and 
the  animal-people.  Carefully  has  he  made  the 
colors  to  blend.  And  we  have  but  to  copy  his  work 
to  do  well.  Some  of  the  least  things  are  the  most 
beautiful.  Upon  the  backs  and  wings  of  moths  and 
butterflies  are  wonderful  designs  where  colors 
blend.  And  so  cunningly  has  he  made  them  that  we 
cannot  follow  the  wearer  always.  They  beautify 
and  yet  hide  him  from  sight.  Only  the  sharp  eye 
can  see.  Only  the  trained  ear  hears  the  sounds 
that  attend  the  beautiful  of  the  forests  and  plains. 
Manitou  would  have  the  beauty  wrought  by  His 
servant  Napa  admired.  It  was  intended  to  com- 


264       LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

mand  our  admiration.  There  is  beauty  for  every 
sense:  the  eye,  the  ear,  the  tongue,  and  the  body 
itself.  Is  it  not  wrong  to  close  the  eye  to  beauty 
and  the  nose  to  the  perfumes  which  the  flowers  give 
to  the  winds?" 

She  stopped  and  her  head  again  bent  over  her 
work.  I  could  see  the  red  part  in  her  hair. 

"I  am  afraid  that  I  have  not  noticed  the  bugs  and 
worms,"  I  says,  feeling  I'd  missed  a  good  deal,  "but 
after  this  I  will  notice  them.  You  will  show  me 
the  designs,  won't  you,  Bluebird?" 

She  laughed  softly  and  raised  her  head  There 
was  merriment  in  her  eyes  now,  and  mischief.  "I 
cannot  make  you  see  beauty  with  honest  eyes,"  she 
said,  so  low  I  scarcely  heered  her.  "If  you  do  not 
find  beauty  for  yourself  how  could  you  know  that  I 
did  not  lie  when  I  declared  it  to  be  before  your 
eyes?  Most  things  grow  in  beauty  for  those  who 
pause  to  look  upon  them.  But  to  the  hawk  no  bird 
is  beautiful,  save  those  of  his  own  tribe.  Yet  the 
little  birds  he  preys  upon  bathe  and  plume  them- 
selves. They  do  not  do  this  to  be  beautiful  in  the 
eyes  of  the  hawk-people,  but  to  those  who  know 
beauty  and  love  it."  She  turned  the  moccasin  she 
was  making  inside  out  and  inspected  her  work,  then 
layed  it  away. 

She  knowed  I  belonged  to  another  race — a  peo- 
ple who  don't  take  the  time  to  learn  the  little  things 
in  the  great  out-of-doors  and  her  words,  gentle  as 
they  was,  pricked  and  shamed  me.  I  felt  like  I'd 
been  petted  and  scolded,  all  in  one  just  like  I  did 
when  Aunt  Lib  jawed  me  for  wearing  my  boots  in 
the  front  room.  But  I  didn't  like  it  when  she  com- 
pared white  folks  to  hawks;  and  I  was  willing  to 
bet  that  was  what  she  meant  to  do.  "Let  us  go  to 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        265 

the  lodge  of  Yellow  Bear,"  I  says,  turnng  to  Red 
Robe. 

"Ho!"  he  laughed,  like  he'd  noticed  that  I  wa'n't 
altogether  tickled  at  what  Bluebird  had  said;  and 
we  went  out  oi;  the  lodge. 

The  sun  was  bright  and  warm  and  the  ice  on  the 
big  river  soggy-looking  and  nigh  the  color  of  lead, 
so  that  I  knowed  the  spring  wa'n't  far  off. 

Yellow  Bear  was  in  bad  shape,  but  he  was  glad 
to  see  us,  especially  me,  and  told  his  woman  to  give 
me  his  best  leggings.  He  said  no  word  about  his 
suffering  and  his  eyes  brightened  when  we  spoke 
of  the  fight.  "See,"  he  said,  pointing  to  a  fresh 
scalp  sewed  in  a  little  hoop  of  willow  that  hung  on 
his  coup-stick,  "that  is  the  scalp  of  a  brave  man." 

He  asked  how  I'd  fared  and  if  I  wanted  anything. 
I  told  him  that  I'd  feasted  and  that  I  was  happy  to 
see  him  alive. 

"I  shall  get  well,"  he  said,  "and  be  as  good  as 
ever.  Do  not  worry  about  me." 

His  family  treated  me  with  a  heap  of  respect  and 
waited  on  me  every  chance  that  offered.  There  was 
three  boys  and  two  girls,  the  oldest  a  girl  about 
Bluebird's  age,  I  reckoned. 

While  we  was  talking  Black  Bear  come  into  the 
lodge  with  his  rattle  and  medicine  sack.  He  told 
us  to  go  away,  and  the  family  followed  us  out,  leav- 
ing the  old  medicine-man  alone  with  his  patient. 

Directly  I  could  hear  Black  Bear  singing  and 
Shaking  his  rattle  to  drive  away  the  pain.  But 
Aunt  Lib  believed  that  a  soiled  stocking  tied  around 
a  sore  throat  would  work  a  cure,  so  I  didn't  see 
that  our  kind  had  much  to  brag  about.  Besides, 
the  In j ins  do  as  they  please  in  such  matters  and 


266        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

allow  others  equal  privilege  without  cutting  their 
acquaintance  or  branding  them  as  fools. 

Yellow  Bear's  family  went  visiting  friends  while 
the  medicine-man  worked  his  charms,  and  Red  Robe 
and  I  went  to  my  lodge  where  Mac  had  a  fire  burn- 
ing. The  old  warrier  stayed  more  than  an  hour, 
smoking  with  us  and  visiting.  Then  he  went  out, 
and  Mac  with  him. 

Eagle  had  finished  the  cut  grass  and  was  pawing 
for  company.  I  knowed  how  he  felt  and  went  out- 
side and  turned  him  loose  to  go  out  with  the  pony 
band.  He  didn't  wait,  I  can  tell  you,  but  whinny- 
ing at  nigh  every  jump,  he  tore  out  to  find  his  own 
kind. 

I  reckoned  that  was  what  I  would  do  as  soon  as 
the  ice  went  out  of  the  river. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

Mac  didn't  come  back  that  night,  and  I  turned  in 
pretty  early,  but  I  didn't  go  to  sleep  till  nigh  mid- 
night. I  got  to  running  over  what  Bluebird  had 
said.  And  I  reckoned  that  every  word  was  true. 
Mebby  she  did  intend  to  liken  me  and  my  kind  to 
the  hawks,  but  I  reckoned  that  after  all,  we  was 
hawks.  We  prey  upon  everything  and  mighty  nigh 
everybody  that  will  stand  it.  And  I  didn't  know 
anything  about  the  beauty  on  the  plains  and  in  the 
forest.  I  hadn't  ever  noticed — never  cared,  when  a 
buck  antelope  was  dead,  to  notice  his  markings.  It 
was  meat  that  I  wanted. 

Mebby  I  was  missing  a  heap.  I  would  pay  at- 
tention to  everything  I  saw  from  now  on.  I  made 
up  my  mind  to  that.  I  could  think  of  more  than  a 
dozen  birds  and  animals  with  fine  colorings,  some 
even  as  bright  as  all  get  out,  that  did  seem  to  hide 
the  wearer,  though  once  you  got  your  eyes  on  them 
you  couldn't  lose  them  if  you  tried.  Things  did  grow 
in  beauty  if  you  only  knowed  beauty  when  you  saw 
it.  I  reckoned  that  Bluebird  was  right,  and  that  I 
would  like  to  talk  to  her  again.  "Lone  Wolf,  if  you 
do  not  look  for  much  you  will  see  but  little,"  was  the 
last  thing  I  remembered  before  I  went  to  sleep. 

Mac  waked  me  early  by  kindling  a  fire  in  the 
lodge.  "Yellow  Bear  is  better  this  morning,"  he 
said  when  I  sat  up.  "He  is  glad  of  your  visit  of 
yesterday.  You  are  a  warrior  now,  and  he  has  sent 
you  the  scalp  of  the  Blackfoot  you  killed." 

I  didn't  want  the  thing,  and  said  so,  but  Mac  hung 
267 


268        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

it  on  my  back-rest  with  the  eagle's  wing,  and  I  let 
it  stay  there. 

That  day  we  traded  a  lot,  and  every  man  that 
come  into  the  lodge  said  something  about  the  scalp, 
and  I  saw  that  it  he'ped  make  friends  with  the 
Crees,  though  I  reckoned  it  might  be  different  with 
the  Blackf eet. 

Towards  sundown  Black  Bear  sent  me  a  painted 
shield  made  from  the  skin  of  an  old  buffalo  bull's 
neck,  that  would  glance  an  arrow  if  it  wa'n't  com- 
ing straight  on,  and  even  then,  sometimes. 

Everybody  wanted  to  smoke  with  me  and  talk 
about  Eagle.  I  never  did  see  such  a  change  in  peo- 
ple. They  had  always  been  pleasant,  but  now  they 
was  plumb  friendly,  and  there  wa'n't  anything  in 
reason  that  they  wouldn't  do  for  me  if  I  asked  them. 

By  night  we  had  traded  off  a  right  smart  of  our 
goods.  It  seemed  like  everybody  wanted  to  trade 
at  once,  so  that  when  Mac  and  I  turned  in  there 
wa'n't  more  than  a  quarter  of  our  goods  left  in  the 
lodge.  We  went  at  it  and  baled  up  our  fur  and 
robes,  but  we  tired  before  it  was  finished.  I  begun 
to  feel  perter ;  and  Mac  was  so  plumb  tickled  that  I 
was  glad  I  was  there  and  responsible  for  his  happi- 
ness. I  slept  sound  all  night  and  beat  Mac  making 
the  fire  when  morning  come.  It  was  only  breaking 
day  when  I  lit  it,  and  we  hustled  up  our  breakfast 
and  went  to  baling  fur  and  robes  again. 

The  spare  guns  was  all  gone,  except  the  scatter- 
gun.  We  had  never  used  it  yet,  and  I  wanted  to 
trade  it  off,  but  Mac  said  it  was  big  medicine  and 
we  kept  it,  though  I  figured  it  was  only  in  the  way. 
I  kept  Dad's  rifle  cleaned  up  and  oiled,  like  he  did, 
and  figured  on  keeping  it  always. 

I  needed  some  moccasins  and  reckoned  I  would 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        269 

get  a  dozen  pairs  so  that  I  would  have  enough  to  last 
me  clean  to  St.  Louis.  And  I  would  buy  them  of 
Bluebird.  I  didn't  tell  Mac,  but  when  he'd  gone  to 
his  lodge  I  slipped  over  to  Red  Robe's  and  put  in 
my  order. 

Neither  Red  Robe  nor  his  woman  was  in  the 
lodge,  though  the  other  children  was  there  with 
Bluebird.  She  measured  my  feet  and  promised  to 
set  to  work  making  me  twelve  pairs  of  moccasins. 
"Are  you  going  to  war  that  you  need  so  many  at 
one  time?"  she  laughed. 

"No,"  I  says,  "only  to  St.  Louis  with  our  robes 
and  fur  when  the  time  comes." 

She  looked  straight  into  my  eyes.  "And  shall 
you  come  back  to  the  plains,  Lone  Wolf?"  she  asked. 

"I  do  not  know,"  I  told  her.  "Sometimes  I  think 
that  I  shall  stay  among  my  own  people.  Then 
sometimes  I  believe  that  I  shall  want  to  come  back 
here.  I  do  not  know,  Bluebird." 

She  laid  a  stick  on  the  lodge-fire.  "Tell  me,  if 
you  will,  of  the  whiteman's  God,"  she  said  in  that 
soft  voice  that  I  liked  to  hear. 

It  was  only  fair.  And  I  told  her  the  best  I  could, 
and  all  that  I  could.  She  didn't  miss  a  word.  She 
was  all  attention,  her  eyes  hardly  winking  till  I 
was  through.  I  knowed  that  it  wa'n't  a  good  job 
I'd  done,  but  it  was  the  first  time  I  had  even  thought 
what  it  means  to  be  asked  to  tell  about  our  God  or 
our  beliefs;  so  I  hardly  knowed  where  to  begin  or 
to  end. 

The  fire  popped  and  snapped,  but  there  waVt 
another  sound  in  the  lodge  while  I  was  talking. 
Bluebird's  arm  slipped  softly  around  the  waist  of 
Sits-and-Sings.  They  leaned  their  heads  together 
so  that  their  hair  touched ;  and  even  the  small  chil- 


270        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

dren  was  so  still  that  I  forgot  they  was  there.  Even 
after  I'd  finished  they  didn't  move  for  a  spell,  and 
their  faces  was  solemn  and  puzzled.  A  stick  rolled 
off  the  fire  and  Bluebird  put  it  back. 

"I  have  thought,  oh,  many  times,  that  the  white- 
man's  God  must  be  powerful,  for  His  people  do  won- 
derful things,"  she  said.  And  then,  like  she  wanted 
to  believe  in  Him  but  daren't,  she  asked,  "But  how 
can  a  Man-god  be  greater  than  Manitou,  when  He, 
your  God,  is  part  of  All — is  Manitou?" 

I  knowed  there  wa'n't  any  use  in  trying  to  an- 
swer that.  I  knowed,  too,  that  they  was  honest  in 
their  beliefs,  and  that  they  respected  the  beliefs  of 
others.  "Tell  me  of  Manitou,"  I  said. 

She  drew  away  from  Sits-and-Sings,  as  though  if 
in  speaking  she  herse'f  did  wrong,  no  blame  could 
come  to  her  sister. 

"We  do  not  speak  His  name  often,"  she  began 
softly.  "The  sun,  the  earth,  and  everything  that  lives 
is  Manitou,  even  the  ants  and  the  tiny  things  that 
live  under  the  leaves  that  lie  on  the  ground  beneath 
the  forest  trees."  Her  eyes  shone  bright  and  her 
lips  trembled  with  earnestness.  "Greater  and  more 
wonderful  than  the  moon  and  stars  is  the  sun,  but 
All  is  Manitou.  The  Sun,  the  father,  makes  the 
grass  and  the  flowers  to  grow  upon  Earth,  the 
mother,  of  all  things.  And  through  the  great  Sun 
we  thank  Manitou  with  the  Sun-dance  each  year. 
Always  when  medicine-men  or  warriors  smoke  they 
pray.  To  smoke  is  to  pray,  for  the  thoughts  of  the 
smoker  are  softened  and  are  kind.  And  kind 
thoughts  are  prayers,  for  they  are  good." 

"Why  then  dare  the  people  kill  the  buffalo  if  the 
buffalo,  being  a  part  of  All,  are  Manitou?"  I  asked, 
wondering  how  a  man  could  dare  to  hurt  his  God. 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        271 

"The  buffalo  strive  to  live  as  we  do.  Striving  to 
keep  alive  is  payment  for  life's  breath.  Manitou 
knows  when  it  is  time  for  His  creatures  to  die.  He 
has  made  nearly  everything  to  prey  upon  other, 
weaker  things.  But  they  all  live  again,  so  that  noth- 
ing of  Manitou  is  lost.  How  could  it  be?" 

"Why  then,  if  everything  lives  again  do  warriors 
fight  to  live  this  life?"  I  asked  her. 

"Because  they  are  afraid  not  to  love  this  life 
given  them  by  Manitou.  It  is  He  who  sets  the  num- 
ber of  their  days,  and  they  do  all  in  their  power  to 
keep  their  breath  in  their  bodies  until  he  calls. 
Then,  no  matter  when  or  how  it  comes,  death  takes 
them  to  the  Shadow-hills  where  the  summer  stays 
forever." 

She  stopped  speaking.  The  lodge  door  had  lifted. 
Red  Robe  come  in. 

"How,  how,  Lone  Wolf,"  he  greeted  me,  sitting 
down  by  my  side.  "Let  us  smoke,"  he  says,  and 
got  out  his  pipe. 

I  didn't  stay  long;  and  when  I  got  back  to  the 
lodge  Mac  had  been  there  and  had  gone  again.  I 
reckoned  that  he  wouldn't  come  back  that  night,  so 
I  cooked  and  ate  my  supper.  Along  about  eight 
o'clock,  I  reckon,  the  wind  begun  to  blow  like  all 
get  out,  and  when  I  went  to  bed  the  village  dogs 
begun  to  howl.  They  pestered  me;  and  the  lodge 
shook  now  and  again,  till  I  got  up  and  smoked  a 
pipe.  When  I  turned  in  again  I  went  to  sleep.  But 
I  had  a  bad  dream. 

I  thought  that  I  was  at  home.  It  was  Sunday 
morning  and  we  was  all  going  to  church  at  the 
Crossing.  The  road  was  dusty  and  the  wild  flow- 
ers that  stuck  through  between  the  rails  of  the 
worm-fence  along  the  way  was  all  grimy.  Then 


272        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

the  bell  in  the  little  log  church  begun  to  ring.  It 
was  tolling.  And  Bugle  under  the  wagon  behind 
old  Tom  and  Becky,  begun  to  howl.  Aunt  Lib  said 
it  was  a  scandal  and  blamed  me,  but  somehow  I 
couldn't  stop  Bugle's  voice  till  I  saw  Joshua  Moulds. 
Then  I  managed  it,  but  I  didn't  know  how.  We 
went  into  the  church  and  I  couldn't  breathe,  the  air 
was  so  hot  and  filled  with  the  perfume  of  flowers. 

It  wa'n't  a  regular  service.  It  was  a  funeral. 
I  wished  they  would  open  the  windows.  I  couldn't 
stand  it  a  minute  longer.  I  would  tip-toe  out  and 
wait  under  the  trees. 

Just  as  I  moved  to  go  Bluebird  stood  up  before 
the  congregation.  I  sunk  back  in  my  seat.  How 
did  she  get  there?  Somebody  was  crying  soft  down 
nigh  the  front.  Bluebird  raised  her  right  hand, 
palm  outward,  and  the  crying  stopped.  Everybody 
was  still  as  death,  and  the  heated  air  nigh  smoth- 
ered me.  "How  can  a  Man-god  be  greater  than 
Manitou,  when  He,  your  God,  is  a  part  of  All — is 
Manitou?"  Her  voice  was  soft  and  sweet.  There 
wa'n't  anything  ornery  in  it,  and  her  eyes  was  mild 
and  looked  inquiring  about  the  room,  as  though  they 
begged  an  answer.  The  people  stirred,  and  the  cry- 
ing commenced  again.  I  heered  the  scrape  of  heavy 
boots  on  the  puncheon  floor,  like  the  men  was 
angry.  My  face  burned  and  I  sunk  lower  behind 
the  back  of  my  seat.  She  shouldn't  have  followed 
me.  I  would  crawl  down  the  aisle  and  leave  her 
there.  I  tried  to  move,  but  something  held  me 
down.  Then  a  man  stood  up  in  the  church,  a  man 
with  the  face  of  a  fiend.  A  great  livid  scar 
stretched  from  his  thick  lips  to  a  staring  eye  that 
didn't  wink.  The  fiddler!  The  fiddler  at  the  Post ! 
I  would  save  her  from  him.  Who  was  holding  me? 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        273 

God!  The  fiddler  grabbed  at  Bluebird,  caught  one 
of  her  black  braids  of  hair  in  his  dirty  hand.  She 
cried  out.  I  wrenched  loose. 

My  head  struck  against  a  lodge-pole.  For  more 
than  a  minute  I  didn't  know  where  I  was.  Sweat 
was  dripping  from  my  forehead  and  I  was  wet  as 
though  I'd  been  in  a  sweat-lodge.  Cracky!  I  was 
as  weak  as  a  cat  and  scared  as  a  little  boy.  But  I 
soon  found  what  had  brought  on  the  dream.  A  bale 
of  buffalo-robes  had  turned  over  and  fell  on  my 
face  while  I  slept,  nigh  smothering  me. 

I  kindled  the  fire  and  smoked.  I  knowed  that 
fiddler  would  ha'nt  my  dreams  some  night  before  I 
died.  Cracky !  what  a  face  he  had. 

When  the  fire  burned  bright  I  got  to  running 
over  my  dream,  and  Bluebird's  question  kept  com- 
ing back.  Wolves  was  howling  above  the  wind  and 
the  village  dogs  had  quit.  A  feeling  of  sure  enough 
homesickness  settled  down  on  me,  and  I  wanted  to 
go  back.  I  would  go  back,  and  I'd  stay  there.  I 
made  up  my  mind  to  that. 

Then  at  last  I  turned  in  once  more  and  slept  till 
plumb  daylight. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

March  come  and  it  snowed  again.  A  darker, 
meaner  morning  couldn't  have  been.  When  I  went 
down  to  the  river  for  water  all  signs  of  spring  was 
buried,  and  it  looked  as  though  winter  had  just 
begun.  The  wind  howled  and  the  snow  was  piled 
about  the  lodges,  like  it  would  plumb  hide  them  out 
of  sight  by  night.  The  smoke  that  come  out  of  their 
tops  was  snatched  by  the  gale  before  it  got  fairly 
outside,  and  whipped  in  every  direction.  Here  and 
there  about  the  village  a  hoss,  tied  up,  stood  with 
his  back  humped  and  his  four  feet  in  a  pile,  like 
misery  on  dress  parade. 

I  wa'n't  in  a  good  humor,  noway.  The  storm  that 
wiped  out  the  signs  of  spring,  and  the  sight  of  the 
snowed-in  lodges  made  me  hate  the  plains.  Yes- 
terday I'd  thought  that  the  winter  was  dead.  Now 
I  could  have  swore  that  the  plains  had  never  knowed 
a  summer's  day. 

I  turned  back  with  a  kettle  of  water.  It  bumped 
and  slopped  against  a  rose  bush  and  out  jumped  a 
red  fox.  He  sank  nigh  out  of  sight  in  the  snow 
and  wallowed.  There  was  feathers  sticking  to  his 
whiskers,  and  I  looked  into  the  rose  bush  and  found 
he'd  been  eating  a  willow  grouse  while  the  blowing 
snow  covered  him  up.  I  thought  of  the  chance  he'd 
taken  with  the  village  dogs,  in  looking  for  his  break- 
fast. But  all  life  was  a  chance  on  the  plains.  The 
grouse  driven  into  the  rose  bush  for  shelter  couldn't 
save  himse'f  from  the  fox,  though  he  had  tried.  I 
wondered  if  he  would  live  again.  I  couldn't  see 
why  he  shouldn't  if  we  did.  God  made  both  of  us, 

274 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        275 

and  I  reckoned  it  wa'n't  becoming  of  us  to  promise 
only  ourse'fs  a  hereafter,  mebby.  It  sure  was  fair, 
anyway,  to  believe  that  way,  and  it  didn't  seem  so 
much  like  setting  ourse'fs  ahead  of  all  other  crea- 
tions of  the  Almighty.  Mebby  He  saved  birds  as 
well  as  men.  And  then  I  thought  of  Mike  Fink. 

I  scraped  away  the  snow  nigh  my  lodge  door  so 
folks  would  know  I  was  up  and  stirring;  then  I 
broiled  a  steak  and  had  my  breakfast  with  some 
tea  for  trimming. 

Directly  I  heered  a  woman  laughing — two  of 
them.  And  I  went  out  to  see  what  was  going  on. 

Bluebird  and  Sits-and-Sings  was  rolling  in  the 
snow,  each  trying  to  bury  the  other  and  both  nigh 
choked  with  laughing.  Red  Robe  with  the  snow 
above  his  knees  was  watching  them,  his  face  full  of 
fun,  and  nothing  at  all  on  him  except  his  leggings 
and  breech-clout. 

I  went  closer  and  Red  Robe  greeted  me.  Then 
both  of  the  girls,  as  though  they'd  planned  it  there 
in  the  snow,  bounced  up  and  tackled  me.  It  was 
mighty  sudden,  so  I  had  my  hands  plumb  full  to 
keep  my  feet.  Mac  and  his  woman  and  children 
come  out  to  look  on,  and  of  all  the  laughing  I  ever 
heered  it  was  then.  At  last  I  got  them  down  and 
held  them,  and  they  was  worse  than  bob-cats  to 
hold;  but  as  soon  as  they  layed  still,  I  let  them  up. 
We  was  all  panting  like  running  buffalo;  and  the 
bad  humor  that  had  got  out  of  bed  with  me  was 
plumb  gone. 

There  was  snow  in  Bluebird's  hair  and  her  face 
was  wet,  but  her  eyes  sparkled  and  danced  with  fun. 
I  had  never  seen  eyes  that  laughed  like  hers. 

I  pulled  my  head-silk  off  and  begun  to  brush  the 
snow  from  her  back.  Her  laugh  quit  when  I 


276        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

touched  her,  but  I  could  hear  her  breathing  fast. 
Directly  she  turned  and  faced  me,  and  I  went  on 
brushing,  even  after  the  snow  was  all  off. 

"That  was  great  fun,"  she  smiled,  and  catching 
hold  of  my  arm,  "You  have  finished,  Lone  Wolf," 
she  says.  "Come  into  the  lodge  and  smoke  with  my 
father." 

I  shook  my  head-silk  and  put  it  on.  My  own  hair 
was  full  of  snow  and  wet.  Not  a  soul  was  in  sight 
except  Bluebird.  They  had  gone  into  their  lodges 
and  left  us.  She  moved  towards  the  lodge  like  she 
expected  me  to  follow. 

"Will  you  tell  me  about  the  bluebirds  if  I  come?" 
I  asked  her. 

She  turned  her  head  and  tipped  it  to  one  side, 
like.  Cracky!  I  though  I'd  like  to  kiss  her.  I 
reckoned  she'd  never  heered  of  kissing. 

"Maybe,"  she  said,  in  that  voice  that  was  so  low 
I  wondered  how  I  heered  it  above  the  storm. 

They  made  room  for  us  at  the  lodge  fire.  Just 
as  we  sat  down  a  strong  gust  jerked  at  the  thongs 
that  held  the  poles  to  the  ground,  as  though  the 
storm  was  warning  us  to  be  thankful  for  shelter. 
I  was  afraid  mebby  the  lodge  would  turn  over. 
"This  is  a  bad  storm,"  I  says,  taking  off  my  head- 
silk  again  to  dry  it  by  the  fire. 

"Yes."  Red  Robe  glanced  at  the  thongs.  "The 
buffalo  may  drift  far  in  this  weather." 

"I  hate  strong  wind  and  deep  snow,"  I  says,  turn- 
ing my  head-silk. 

"Let  me  braid  your  hair."  Bluebird  moved  to  my 
side  and  with  a  comb  made  from  the  tail  of  a  porcu- 
pine, begun  to  straighten  out  the  tangles.  Then 
when  her  slender  fingers  begun  to  work,  she  said, 
"Lone  Wolf,  it  is  not  good  to  cry  out  against  the 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        277 

seasons.  It  is  well  to  be  silent  when  we  are  trou- 
bled or  in  pain.  If  the  grass  is  poor  the  buffalo 
seek  another  and  better  range.  If  they  cannot  find 
it,  they  die.  If  one  buffalo  is  badly  wounded  he  fol- 
lows the  rest  as  best  he  can  without  troubling  the 
others.  When  he  can  keep  up  no  longer  he  falls 
behind  and  dies.  Shall  the  buffalo  be  more  patient 
in  the  sight  of  Manitou  than  we  are,  Paok  Mah-he- 
can?" 

She  fastened  the  end  of  the  braid  with  sinew  and 
begun  to  make  the  other.  She  was  petting  and 
scolding  again,  but  I  knowed  she  was  right  this 
time.  A  man  hadn't  ought  to  complain  against 
what  he  can't  he'p,  noway. 

Then,  as  though  she  knowed  my  thoughts,  she 
said,  "It  is  useless  to  cry  out  against  things  we  can- 
not prevent.  To  do  so  is  but  to  waste  the  very 
breath  that  might  give  us  strength  to  stifle  a  groan 
that  would  torment  our  friends  or  please  our  ene- 
mies. The  storm  that  has  passed  and  gone  leaves 
us  always  more  love  for  the  sunshine.  If  the  sun 
never  hid  away  we  would  grow  careless  of  his 
worth.  The  storms  come  to  help  us  and  strengthen 
our  appreciation  for  the  sun." 

She  finished  the  other  braid  and  I  put  on  my 
head-silk.  "I  have  heered  Black  Bear  pray  that 
the  wind  be  still,"  I  said,  and  was  tickled  I'd 
thought  of  it. 

"Yes,"  she  agreed,  "but  our  people  would  have 
found  no  fault  if  the  winds  had  not  been  still,"  she 
said,  picking  up  her  comb.  "They  would  not  dare. 
They  know  that  there  is  no  created  thing  that  is  al- 
ways free  from  trouble.  The  flowers  of  spring  and 
the  young  leaves  upon  the  trees  often  creep  out  of 
their  winter  lodges  to  meet  the  summer  and  are 


278        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

chilled  by  the  north  wind.  Many  die.  Some  are 
crippled,  but  last  the  season  through  and  lend  their 
scant  breath  to  the  summer's  breeze.  Often  the 
flowers  are  hungry  and  thirst  is  never  far  away; 
but  they  do  not  often  let  us  know.  When  the  berry 
is  ripe  it  dies.  So  men  die." 

She  moved  away  to  the  other  side  of  the  fire,  and 
Red  Robe,  excusing  himse'f,  left  the  lodge  to  visit 
Mac.  I  was  mighty  nigh  ready  to  follow  him.  I 
was  bristling  inside,  but  held  onto  myse'f  because  I 
knowed  I  needed  to  be  talked  to  that  a-way.  "You 
promised  to  tell  me  about  the  bluebirds,"  I  said, 
filling  my  pip£. 

"No,  I  have  never  promised  that,"  she  said,  glanc- 
ing at  her  mother,  who  turned  square  around  and  be- 
gun unlacing  a  parfleche,  like  she  hadn't  heered  me. 
"I  said  'maybe'."  Then  she  come  back  on  my  side  of 
the  fire,  picked  up  one  of  my  moccasins  that  she 
had  been  making,  and  sat  down  near  me. 

"My  people  are  fond  of  the  bluebirds,"  she  says, 
almost  under  her  breath.  "They  love  to  see  them 
always.  Whenever  a  bluebird  comes  to  a  lodge — " 
she  bent  over  the  moccasin  till  her  face  nigh  touched 
it,  "they  say  that  the  owner  of  the  lodge-skin  will 
be  lucky  because  the  bluebird  came.  If  a  bluebird 
lights  upon  a  lodge-pole  it  means  health  and  joy. 
But  if  the  bird  should  come  inside,  as  they  some- 
times do,  then  great  good  fortune  is  sure  to  follow 
through  the  door.  That  is  all." 

But  before  I  could  speak  she  said,  "If  a  butterfly 
should  come  into  a  lodge  and  light  on  a  sleeping 
child  there  and  fan  it  with  its  sleep-wings,  then  the 
child  will  surely  die.  And  the  owl  is  bad,  too,"  she 
went  on,  like  she  didn't  want  to  talk  about  the  blue- 
birds. "They  are  the  spirits  of  the  dead,  ghosts 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        279 

that  come  out  of  the  Shadow-hills  because  they  can- 
not rest  there.  If  an  owl  comes  close  to  a  lodge 
and  cries  out,  it  is  a  bad  thing  for  someone  within 
that  lodge.  On  the  night  before  the  battle  with  the 
Blackfeet  you  heard  the  owl.  You  heard  Black 
Bear  and  you  knew  that  the  Crees  were  troubled 
and  were  sure  that  a  great  warrior  would  die.  One 
did  die.  It  was  your  friend.  Owls  are  wise  and 
bad,  and  we  never  bother  them." 

It  had  suddenly  quit  snowing  and  the  wind  was 
coming  from  a  different  direction,  so  she  got  up  and 
went  outside  to  change  the  smoke-ears  on  the  lodge. 
I  followed  her  outside. 

"See,"  she  said,  "It  is  Sow-un-you-tin  that  blows. 
Tomorrow  the  snow  will  be  gone  again,  and  the  ice 
will  soon  leave  the  river." 

Then  she  untied  a  necklace  of  little  shells  from 
her  neck  and  gave  it  to  me.  "Your  moccasins  will 
be  finished  in  two  days,  and  you  will  follow  the  ice 
down  the  stream,"  she  said. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

The  storm  had  suddenly  turned  and  a  Chinook 
was  blowing.  All  night  the  wind  howled  and  the 
snow  fell  from  the  walls  of  the  lodges  where  the 
storm  had  blowed  it.  The  air  was  so  warm  that  a 
fire  was  uncomfortable,  so  that  I  left  my  door  open. 
The  village  dogs,  glad  of  the  change,  prowled  about 
to  find  and  gnaw  bones  that  had  been  hid  under  the 
snow  that  was  going  away  fast  as  it  had  come.  One 
of  the  miracles  of  the  plains  was  being  worked,  and 
I  knowed  that  by  morning  everything  would  be 
soaking  wet  and  that  the  plains  would  be  bare 
again. 

A  drowsiness  that  comes  to  man  and  beast  when, 
after  a  bad  storm,  a  Chinook  blows,  layed  hold  of 
me  and  I  fell  asleep.  It  was  late  in  the  night  when 
I  woke.  The  wind  wa'n't  so  strong,  but  I  could 
hear  the  dripping  of  water  from  the  trees  and 
bushes  and  the  ashes  in  the  fire-ring  was  wet  when 
I  kindled  a  fire.  It  was  raining.  The  ice  would 
go  out  of  the  river.  I  closed  the  lodge  door  and 
layed  down  again,  and  before  the  fire  had  burned 
out  I  was  sound  asleep. 

The  morning  was  dark.  The  heavy  clouds  was 
so  low  that  they  didn't  look  to  be  far  from  the 
ground,  and  a  fine  drizzling  rain  was  falling  mighty 
nigh  straight  down,  for  the  wind  had  plumb  quit. 

I  went  to  the  river  for  water  and  found  the  ice 
flooded  from  shore  to  shore  and  cracking.  I  heered 
a  wild  goose  gonk  up  somewhere  in  the  dark  sky, 
and  my  heart  jumped  I  was  so  glad  he'd  come.  The 

280 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        281 

snow  was  mighty  nigh  all  gone,  and  by  noon  the 
plains  would  be  bare  as  they  had  been  in  the  fall. 
Spring  was  coming!  I  begun  to  whistle  a  tune. 
The  way  was  open  to  the  mouth  of  the  Yellowstone 
and  soon  the  river  would  carry  us  down  to  good  old 
St.  Louis  from  the  Ashley-Henry  Post. 

Mac  was  setting  by  the  fire  in  the  lodge  when  I 
got  back.  "Ho!"  he  says,  "Sow-un-you-tin  blew 
hard  last  night.  The  winter  is  dead,  Lone  Wolf." 

I  can't  make  you  know  how  his  words  set  me  afire 
to  get  away. 

"Let  us  finish  our  trading  and  start  when  it  quits 
raining."  I  could  jest  see  St.  Louis — see  the  white- 
men  and  hear  the  fiddles  through  the  open  doors  of 
the  town.  But  they  seemed  to  me  to  be  at  the  other 
end  of  nowhere  and  I  itched  to  begin  traveling  to- 
wards them. 

"We  must  not  go  until  the  water  begins  to  rise, 
Lone  Wolf."  His  voice  seemed  to  be  warning  me 
that  would  be  months  from  then,  and  it  made  me 
bristle.  "There  will  be  storms  yet  and  the  ice  must 
go  first,"  he  said,  laying  down  on  a  robe. 

He  wa'n't  ever  in  a  hurry!  I  got  up  and  moved 
a  bale  of  robes.  It  didn't  need  moving,  but  I  plumb 
had  to  move  something.  "I  don't  want  to  stay  here 
forever,"  I  said,  and  sat  down  again. 

He  got  up  and  filled  his  pipe.  "We  are  lucky," 
he  smiled.  "If  the  Crees  had  moved  we  should  have 
been  obliged  to  pack  all  our  furs  and  robes  and 
move  with  them,  Lone  Wolf;  or  stay  here  and  fall 
an  easy  prey  to  the  Blackfeet."  He  lit  his  pipe  and 
passed  it  to  me.  "Even  now  the  Crees  might  have 
to  move  to  follow  the  buffalo  before  we  are  ready 
to  start  on  our  way." 

It  was  true.     I  hadn't  thought  of  it.    I  slowed 


282        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

down  right  away.    "Well,  let  us  get  rid  of  the  rest 
of  our  goods,  anyway,"  I  says. 

He  agreed  to  that;  and,  the  next  morning  we 
drummed  up  some  traders,  so  that  by  night  we  was 
cleaned  out. 

I  took  to  watching  the  river;  but  as  Aunt  Lib 
says,  "a  watched  pot  never  will  boil,"  and  it  was  slow 
and  tiresome.  The  ice  did  go  out  at  last,  but  there 
was  one  bad  storm  after  another  to  keep  us  back. 
Did  you  ever  hold  a  hound-dog  by  a  tether  while 
he  snuffled  and  rared  to  go  on  a  hot  trail?  Well,  I 
was  like  that  every  minute,  and  worse.  Days  I'd 
watch  the  river,  and  nights  I'd  dream  of  St.  Louis 
till  I'd  mighty  nigh  get  up  and  walk  towards  it  in 
my  sleep. 

The  first  wild  flowers  blossomed  in  sunny  spots, 
hiding,  like,  near  the  bushes  and  under  the  river's 
banks.  I  run  onto  Bluebird  and  Sits-and-Sings  one 
day  picking  flowers  by  the  river.  Bluebird  asked 
me  to  tell  her  about  St.  Louis,  and  I  did;  all  I 
knowed. 

"And  do  the  people  stay  always  in  that  one 
place?"  she  asked,  as  though  she  reckoned  they'd 
starve  to  death  if  they  did.  I  wished  that  she  could 
see  St.  Louis,  but  I  didn't  say  so. 

I  went  to  Red  Robe's  lodge  that  night,  but  I  didn't 
stay  a  long  spell.  They  seemed  to  think  I'd  come 
back,  and  I  didn't  figure  on  making  it  any  harder 
for  me  to  leave  by  telling  them  that  I  had  made  up 
my  mind  I  wouldn't.  They  was  good  folks  and  I 
liked  them  a  heap. 

Nights  when  I'd  get  to  thinking  about  Bluebird 
I'd  tell  myse'f  that  it  wa'n't  fair  to  like  her  too 
much,  noway.  If  I  had  been  going  to  stay  on  the 
plains  it  would  have  been  different,  but  she  was  of 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        283 

the  plains  and  I  wa'n't  a  plainsman.  She  couldn't 
live  in  my  country  and  be  happy  noway,  and  I  sure 
couldn't  stand  the  plains,  myse'f .  I'd  run  it  all  over 
and  over  in  my  mind  that  way;  and  I  couldn't  see 
my  way  out  only  to  go  away  and  let  her  plumb  alone. 
Even  if  I  wanted  to  stay  on  the  plains  just  then, 
how  could  I  be  sure  I  wouldn't  flop  around  and  want 
to  quit.  I'd  let  her  alone.  It  was  what  I'd  ought  to 
do — what  any  honest  man  would  do.  I  called  myse'f 
honest,  and  I'd  let  it  go  at  that. 

The  leaves  was  showing  on  the  trees  and  meadow 
larks  piped  up  the  sun  of  mornings,  but  the  river 
paid  no  attention  and  just  wouldn't  come  up  an 
inch.  Ducks  and  geese — millions  of  them — was 
everywhere  and  great  flocks  of  curlews  with  their 
long,  crooked  bills  that  turn  downwards,  and  sand- 
hill cranes,  with  their  echoing  voices  flew  over  the 
village  in  long  strings,  their  thin  legs  sticking  way 
out  behind  like  they  didn't  belong  there.  And 
blamed  if  the  plains  wa'n't  turning  greenish  with 
the  new  grass  that  was  crowding  up  under  the  old, 
before  the  water  showed  any  sign  of  raising.  I 
never  will  forget  how  glad  I  was  when  at  last  Mac 
had  to  admit  that  it  was  coming  up. 

Drift  logs  begun  to  come  down — logs  that  the 
freshet  of  the  year  before  had  left  on  sandbars  up 
above  us.  I  watched  them  go  sailing  down  the 
stream  till  they  got  plumb  out  of  sight,  and  mighty 
nigh  wished  I  was  a  log,  myse'f. 

One  afternoon  a  big  one  come  on  by,  a  rough- 
barked  cottonwood  with  scraggly  roots,  and  broke 
off  nigh  the  middle.  It  caught  on  a  bar  just  above 
me  and  I  reckoned  it  would  have  to  wait  for  higher 
water,  too.  But  directly  it  swung  around  and  got 
loose,  and  I  saw  two  fat  muskrats  sitting  close  to- 


284        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

gether  on  the  log.  They  was  faced  down-stream 
like  two  cronies  going  to  market  and  not  hardly 
able  to  wait  to  get  to  St.  Louis.  I  started  to  run 
along  the  bank,  keeping  abreast  of  the  log,  and  if  I 
didn't  talk  to  them  like  they  was  men  I'm  a  nigger. 
"I'll  be  along  directly !"  I  says,  and  felt  foolish  when 
I  heered  my  voice.  I  watched  them  round  the  bend 
below  the  village  and  turned  back.  I'd  made  up  my 
mind  to  move.  I  wouldn't  wait  another  day. 

But  I  didn't  have  to  argue  with  Mac.  He  was 
working  on  the  packs  when  I  got  to  the  lodge. 

"Let  us  start  in  the  morning !"  I  said,  pitching  in 
to  he'p  him.  Then  I  knowed  we  couldn't  possibly 
make  it,  so  I  says,  "Or  the  morning  after." 

"Good !"  he  says ;  and  I  was  mighty  tickled. 

I  had  kept  out  some  beads,  two  axes,  two  knives, 
a  keg  of  powder,  and  ten  bars  of  lead,  for  presents. 
I  reckoned  I'd  give  them  all  to  Red  Robe's  folks. 

Then  all  of  a  sudden  misery  come  to  me.  We  was 
going  to  trade  off  the  hosses  and  mules  for  a  macki- 
naw-boat  at  the  Ashley-Henry  Post.  I  couldn't  take 
Eagle  on  down  the  river.  And  I  wouldn't  trade  him 
off.  I  sat  down  to  think  how  I'd  manage ;  but  there 
wa'n't  any1  way  unless  we  went  clean  on  to  St.  Louis 
by  land,  and  I  knowed  we  never  could  make  it. 
Woodpecker,  Spotted  Elk,  and  Standing  Bear  would 
only  go  with  us  as  far  as  the  mouth  of  the  Yellow- 
stone, and  I  couldn't  blame  them.  The  Grosventres 
would  take  us  in  if  the  Crows  didn't.  I  layed  awake 
nigh  half  the  night  thinking  about  it ;  but  I  couldn't 
figure  out  any  way,  only  to  leave  him  with  Bluebird. 
I  wouldn't  give  him  to  her.  I'd  just  leave  him  with 
her,  like.  Once  I  made  up  my  mind  to  it,  I  went  to 
sleep. 

We  got  all  ready  for  an  early  start  and  spent  the 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        285 

day  changing  and  fixing  packs.  We  had  twenty 
pack  animals  loaded  light  enough  to  travel  fast  and 
had  to  get  six  extra  hosses  from  the  Crees  to  make 
out.  Besides  our  own  robes  and  furs  we  was  taking 
along  the  packs  of  beaver  skins  belonging  to  Red 
Robe,  promising  to  pay  the  trader  at  the  Ashley- 
Henry  Post  for  him. 

I  couldn't  wait  for  daylight.  I  got  up  and  built  a 
fire  an  hour  before  dawn.  Mac  turned  out  and  went 
out  for  the  stock,  while  I  got  breakfast,  as  nervous 
as  a  girl,  dropping  everything  and  burning  my 
hands  twice. 

Woodpecker  and  Standing  Bear  come  in  before 
Mac  got  back,  and  when  he  run  in  the  stock  Spotted 
Elk  was  with  him.  The  Crees  begun  to  saddle  up 
while  Mac  and  I  ate. 

"You  give  this  lodge  to  somebody  and  I  will  give 
Dad's  to  Yellow  Bear,"  I  said. 

"Good,"  he  said,  and  that  was  settled.  But  some- 
how I  wa'n't  so  glad  to  do  it  as  I  thought  I'd  be. 
Eagle  was  pestering  me,  too. 

The  Crees  begun  to  pack  and  a  crowd  gathered  to 
look  on.  Bluebird  was  there,  and  Red  Robe  and  his 
woman  and  the  other  children,  but  I  went  at  it  and 
took  a  hand  at  the  packing.  The  mules  was  ornery 
not  having  done  any  work  for  so  long  a  spell,  and 
some  of  them  cut  up,  making  everybody  laugh.  But 
one  by  one  they  was  packed,  all  of  us  working  hard 
and  fast  to  get  the  outfit  strung  out  so  the  mules 
wouldn't  lay  down  and  roll.  I  was  sweating  like  a 
nigger  when  Mac  swung  onto  his  hoss  and  leading 
the  bell-mare,  headed  out  onto  the  plains  to  clear 
the  bad-land  breaks  before  turning  down  the  Mis- 
souri. 

Eagle,  like  he  knowed  what  was  going  on,  made 


286        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

out  to  follow,  but  I  caught  him  up  and  led  him  to 
Bluebird.  He  whinnied  and  pawed  and  rared  up, 
and  I  mighty  nigh  weakened  and  took  him  along. 

The  crowd  of  folks  fell  back  and  begun  to  go  away 
to  their  lodges,  when  holding  onto  Eagle  with  one 
hand,  I  held  out  my  other  to  Bluebird.  She  took  it, 
her  eyes  falling  when  I  squeezed  her  hand.  It  was 
little  and  slender,  but  hardened  with  work,  and  I 
saw  again  how  the  nails  on  the  tapering  fingers  was 
broke  from  dressing  heavy  robes.  Directly  she 
drew  it  away  from  me  gently  and  brushed  her  fore- 
head. How  pretty  she  looked,  and  good !  Her  black 
hair,  parted  exactly  in  the  middle,  hung  in  heavy 
braids  that  reached  below  her  waist,  one  in  front 
over  her  breast,  the  other  behind  a  half-naked 
shoulder  as  pretty  as  any  woman  could  own.  Her 
head  being  bent  showed  the  part  in  her  hair  which 
was  fresh-painted,  and  there  was  pearl  shells  in  her 
ears — not  big  pieces,  but  pretty  ones,  round  and 
polished. 

"Bluebird,"  I  begun,  "will  you  keep  Eagle  for 
me?" 

She  looked  up  and  her  eyes  held  onto  mine  like 
they  was  afraid  I'd  lie.  "Shall  you  come  back?"  she 
asked  in  that  nigh-whispered  voice,  "back  here  to 
stay?" 

It  was  the  first  time  I  knowed  how  much  she 
liked  me;  and  right  then  my  job  got  harder  to  do. 
I  knowed  I  couldn't  lie  to  her;  and  I  wouldn't,  no- 
way. 

"I  am  going  down  the  river  to  my  home,  and  I 
may  come  back.  I  think  now  that  I  like  the  ways 
of  my  own  people  better,  and  that  I  shall  stay 
there,"  I  says.  "But  if  I  come  back  I  will  stay." 

She  turned  to  look  out  on  the  plains  where  the 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        287 

pack-train  was  still  going  nigh  straight  away.  Her 
eyes  didn't  change,  nor  her  face.  Then  she  took 
hold  of  Eagle's  rope.  "I  will  keep  him,  Lone  Wolf," 
she  said,  "keep  him  till  he  dies." 

I  couldn't  hardly  hear  that  word.    I  prickled  at  it. 

Her  father  and  mother  was  standing  just  behind 
her,  but  far  enough  away  so  that  I  knowed  they 
didn't  hear.  I  wouldn't  run  off  and  leave  her  with- 
out fixing  it  so  she  would  know  if  I  wa'n't  coming 
back.  I  took  off  my  ring.  The  shield  on  it  was  nigh 
worn  away  now,  but  I  handed  it  to  her. 

"Look  at  it  carefully,"  I  said.  "If  after  I  have 
visited  my  people  I  make  up  my  mind  that  I  shall 
not  come  back  to  the  plains  I  will  send  it  to  you  so 
that  you  will  know." 

She  took  the  ring,  and  when  she  give  it  back  I 
was  sure  she'd  know  it  any  place.  "Do  not  lose  it, 
Lone  Wolf,"  she  whispered,  "or  I  might  never 
know." 

How  her  eyes  looked  into  mine ! 

"If  I  should  lose  it,  I  will  let  you  know  some  other 
way,  Bluebird,  and  before  the  month  of  roses  shall 
have  passed  a  second  time  from  this  day.  I  have 
spoken  and  I  have  not  lied." 

I  took  her  hand  again.  It  trembled  in  mine,  but 
her  fingers  closed  about  my  own  and  she  led  me  to- 
wards her  father.  "Tell  him  what  you  have  said  to 
me,  Lone  Wolf,"  she  begged.  "Tell  him  all,  that  he 
may  not  listen  to  other  men  who  may  want  me." 

I  told  him  every  word.  His  sharp  eyes  never  left 
my  own  while  I  was  speaking.  But  afterwards  he 
says  without  hesitating:  "I  will  not  listen  to  other 
young  men  until  the  month  of  roses  shall  have 
passed  a  second  time  from  this  day,  or  until  the  ring 


288        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

has  come  back  to  her.  You  are  young,  Lone  Wolf, 
your  heart  is  strong,  and  there  is  yet  time.  Ho !" 

He  walked  away  and  his  woman  followed. 

I  turned  back  to  Bluebird.  "There  are  some  pres- 
ents for  you  in  the  lodge,"  I  said.  "Get  them  before 
they  move  it." 

She  didn't  hear  me.  Eagle  was  restless  and  I 
took  the  rope  from  her  hand  and  tied  him  to  a  tree. 

"Good-bye,  Bluebird,"  I  said,  and  got  onto  my 
hoss. 

"Good-bye,"  she  whispered.  "Do  not  forget  us." 
Her  arms  went  around  Eagle's  white  neck  and  she 
buried  her  face  in  his  mane. 

I  rode  away.  Twice  I  heered  Eagle  whinny,  but 
I  didn't  dare  to  look  back.  I  felt  as  ornery  and  low- 
down  as  Mike  Fink,  and  my  conscience  got  to  pes- 
tering me  like  it  did  when  I'd  caught  myse'f  being 
glad  it  was  Joe  instead  of  Dad  that  was  killed.  And 
it  kept  at  it  till  I  caught  up  to  the  pack-train.  Then 
it  let  up  a  little  and  I  showed  myse'f  again  that  I 
was  only  doing  the  right  thing,  the  honest  thing.  I 
couldn't  stay  on  the  plains  and  to  take  Bluebird  and 
then  leave  her  would  be  lower-down  than  a  skunk. 
Besides  I  reckoned  that  I  was  as  bad-hurt  as  she 
was  mebby.  I  hoped  I  was,  anyway;  for  I  reckoned 
I  deserved  to  be  hurt  more  than  she  did,  a  heap 
more.  I'd  ought  to  have  stayed  plumb  away  from 
her,  and  I  hadn't.  But  I  couldn't  he'p  it  now.  I'd 
keep  my  promise  and  send  the  ring. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

Mac  had  turned  down  the  stream;  and  the  pack- 
train,  beginning  to  settle  to  work,  looked  mighty 
fine,  the  loaded  animals  following  him  over  the  roll- 
ing plains.  First  was  Mac,  then  some  stock,  then 
Spotted  Elk,  then  more  packs,  then  Woodpecker 
and  more  mules,  then  Standing  Bear,  and  finally 
me — all  headed  for  the  mouth  of  the  Yellowstone. 

The  morning  was  fine,  and  there  was  a  rich  smell 
of  spring  in  the  air.  The  buffalo  was  shedding  their 
hair,  and  it  was  sticking  to  every  bush.  Little  rolls 
of  it,  fine  as  silk,  blowed  by  the  wind,  bounded  about 
like  queer,  shapeless  animals  looking  for  a  place  to 
hide.  Directly  we  passed  a  herd,  and  the  animals 
was  all  ragged  and  looked  towsley  as  all  get  out, 
with  their  long  hair  coming  off  in  wads  and  still 
sticking  about  their  bodies  like  it  hated  to  let  go. 
They  was  in  good  fix,  but  didn't  look  much  like  the 
buffalo  we'd  killed  during  the  fall  and  winter.  And 
the  young  calves,  all  legs  and  heads,  that  trotted  by 
their  mothers'  sides,  looked  for  all  the  world  like 
bad-made  toy  animals  that  had  come  to  life  in  a 
dream. 

Wolves,  packs  of  them,  skulked  close  every  min- 
ute, hoping  to  pick  up  a  new-born  calf  or  to  find  a 
crippled  buffalo  to  kill.  They  was  shedding,  too, 
and  looked  tattered  and  tired,  their  tongues  lolling 
out,  and  panting  even  when  they  sat  down  to  watch 
us  go  by.  Now  and  again  I'd  see  one  scratch  him- 
se'f  like  he  wanted  to  get  rid  of  his  winter  coat  and 
was  half  mad  because  it  wouldn't  come  off. 

I  could  see  the  tree  tops  down  along  the  Missouri, 

289 


290        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

showing  right  green  with  young  leaves.  The  plains 
was  a  picture;  and  you'd  have  sworn  that  they 
never  could  know  bad  weather  and  that  misery 
never  come  that  way. 

Every  day  things  went  smooth  and  easy.  It  would 
be  cloudy  and  rain,  then  the  sun  would  come  out 
again  before  night.  We  didn't  see  an  Injin;  not 
one ;  nor  any  sign,  till  we  got  opposite  the  mouth  of 
the  Yellowstone  and  had  kindled  a  fire.  Then  a  dug- 
out come  over  to  us  from  the  Post,  fetching  a  white 
man  and  an  Injin.  I  was  tickled  to  see  one  of  my 
own  kind  again,  I  can  tell  you.  They  stayed  with 
us  all  night  and  we  visited  till  late. 

At  daylight  Mac  and  I  went  to  the  Post  with 
them,  taking  Red  Robe's  beaver  skins  along.  We 
struck  a  bargain  easy  for  a  mackinaw,  but  part  of 
the  agreement  didn't  suit  me.  We  had  to  take  as 
many  bales  of  freight  belonging  to  the  traders  at 
the  Post  as  the  mackinaw  would  carry,  besides  our 
own.  There  wa'n't  no  way  out  of  it.  But  they  was 
to  send  a  man  along  to  he'p  us  and  take  care  of  the 
goods  belonging  to  them.  Mac  was  plumb  tickled  at 
that.  He  knowed  I  wa'n't  any  hand  with  a  boat  and 
so  was  mighty  glad  when  a  little  black  Frenchman 
was  sent  across  to  our  camp  with  the  mackinaw. 

We  loaded  up,  taking  some  dainties  like  meal  and 
sugar  got  at  the  Post.  We'd  paid  off  the  Crees  be- 
fore we  left  the  Marias,  so  we  said  good-bye  to  them 
and  shoved  off  at  about  ten  o'clock. 

There  was  two  oars  up  nigh  the  bow  of  the  boat, 
which  Mac  and  I  manned  while  St.  Pierre  handled 
the  steering  oar  at  the  stern.  The  river  was  coming 
up  fast  and  the  current  was  mighty  strong,  so  that 
we  was  out  of  sight  of  the  Post  in  no  time.  Cracky ! 
We  was  bound  for  St.  Louis  at  last.  I  couldn't  be- 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        291 

lieve  it.  If  I  lived  to  get  there  with  what  belonged 
to  me  I'd  be  rich. 

St.  Pierre  begun  to  sing,  but  Mac  said  something 
in  French  and  he  quit.  It  had  sounded  funny  and 
I  laughed. 

"HFm  say  no  good  por  seeng  now,"  Mac  says, 
turning  to  me.  "T'ree  man  is  stan'  dam*  poor  show 
wit*  planty  Hinjin.  Me,  HFm  lakum  song  jist  de 
sam'  nodder  man,  but  not  now,  by  gar!  Not  jist 
now!" 

I  knowed  he  was  right  and  said  so.  Each  bend  in 
the  big  river  held  a  mystery  and  we  never  turned 
one  of  them  without  wondering  if  our  luck  would 
hold  or  break.  Any  turn  might  show  up  an  Injin 
village  or  a  war-party  looking  for  trouble.  Many 
a  boat  had  been  captured  and  its  crew  killed,  even 
away  below  where  the  country  was  better  known  to 
whitemen.  There  had  been  a  heap  of  fights 
along  the  river.  I  reckoned  that  one  of  them  had 
figured  in  fetching  me  to  the  plains,  mebby.  But 
we  didn't  stop.  We  went  on  and  on,  'round  bend 
after  bend  till  plumb  dark,  before  we  ate  a  bite. 
Then  we  changed  things  some.  I  took  a  nap  while 
Mac  pulled  on  one  oar  and  St.  Pierre  steered  in  the 
stern.  But  we  didn't  stop,  not  a  minute,  all  night 
long.  We  changed  once,  nigh  midnight,  when  I  took 
a  hand  at  the  oar  and  Mac  took  St.  Pierre's  place 
in  the  stern. 

There  was  a  quite  a  difference  in  the  looks  ot 
things  when  morning  come.  The  leaves  on  the  trees 
was  nigh  full-grown ;  for  we  had  traveled  more  than 
a  hundred  miles,  and  I  could  notice  that  it  was 
some  warmer. 

I  quit  pulling  the  oar  and  got  some  breakfast 
ready.  Then  we  called  St.  Pierre  and  ate.  After 


292        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

that  Mac  took  a  nap  till  nigh  noon,  while  I  pulled 
the  oar  and  St.  Pierre  steered. 

Directly  we  passed  Little  Pete's  corral.  It  was 
still  standing.  I  could  see  just  where  Dad  and  I 
was  laying  when  Joe  was  shot.  It  didn't  take  long 
to  pass  the  place;  but  while  we  was  drifting  by,  I 
saw  most  everything  and  thought  of  everything.  A 
band  of  antelope  was  drinking  where  they'd  drunk 
that  day.  I  wondered  if  they  was  the  same  ones. 
I  didn't  say  anything  to  St.  Pierre;  it  wasn't  worth 
while;  but  I  got  to  thinking  hard. 

Dad  was  dead,  and  Bill,  and  Joe.  Even  Fink 
and  Carpenter  and  Talbot  had  gone  under.  I  was 
the  only  one  left  alive.  If  I  could  only  get  to  St. 
Louis  I'd  go  home  and  stay  there. 

Then  I  thought  of  Bluebird  and  Eagle.  I  reckoned 
I'd  been  square  and  honest  with  both,  and  that  I 
loved  both  more  than  anything  else  in  the  world. 
But  there  wa'n't  any  way  I  could  have  them. 

We  didn't  stop  but  twice  in  eight  days  and  nights. 
Then  we  only  tied  up  at  islands  and  cooked,  being 
mighty  careful  about  making  our  fires.  We  baked 
up  a  lot  of  corn  bread  and  took  wood  so  that  we 
could  make  a  little  tea  on  the  boat  while  we  was 
traveling.  But  on  the  morning  of  the  ninth  day  I 
killed  a  fat  whitetail  buck  and  we  landed.  It  was 
the  first  shot  we'd  fired  and  the  first  fresh  meat 
we'd  had  in  nigh  a  week.  We  could  have  had  tons 
of  meat  any  day,  but  we  daren't  shoot.  Mac  held 
to  it  that  we  must  keep  quiet  and  make  time,  and 
we  did.  I  was  cramped  and  tired  with  the  stillness, 
and  the  bad-lands,  pretty  and  queer  as  they  was, 
got  on  my  nerves  more  and  more ;  though  now  they 
was  changing — fading  out,  like,  and  I  was  mighty 
glad. 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        293 

It  was  on  the  morning  of  the  tenth  day  when  it 
begun  to  rain  like  sixty.  We  was  all  up  and  awake. 
Mac,  pulling  at  the  oar,  says,  "Now,  St.  Pierre, 
you'll  seeng  planty." 

Cracky!  The  Frenchman  didn't  wait,  but  struck 
up  a  lively  tune,  and  Mac  joined  him.  It  was  like 
letting  out  a  tight  cinch,  and  I  felt  tickled. 

They  sang  song  after  song — all  in  French,  but 
sounding  good  to  me.  The  dangerous  country  had 
been  safely  passed  and  we  hadn't  anything  to  fear. 
Rank  vines  and  weeds  with  bright-colored  flowers 
lined  the  banks  now,  and  the  timber  was  thicker  and 
bigger  and  reached  farther  back  from  the  river. 
Directly  we  passed  a  log  cabin  and  cheered  till  we 
was  hoarse.  A  man  come  to  the  door  and  waved 
his  hand ;  but  he  wa'n't  white,  he  was  a  mixed-blood 
on  the  outskirts  of  civilization,  though  I  knowed  his 
next  neighbor  was  likely  to  be  white. 

Near  sundown  we  went  by  a  clearing — just  a  lit- 
tle one  without  a  fence.  Then,  before  dark  we  saw 
a  dozen  good-sized  cabins,  and  a  mile  or  two  below 
them  went  ashore  to  stretch  our  legs.  We  slept  on 
land  and  built  a  fire  and  cooked,  all  we  wanted. 

But  at  daylight  we  went  on.  It  rained  hard  that 
day  and  the  next.  The  cabins  and  clearings  was 
nearer  together  now;  and  when  the  sun  come  out 
again,  there  she  was — old  St.  Louis,  not  a  mile 
ahead!  We'd  come  into  the  Mississippi  and  never 
knowed  it. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

We  tied  up  at  a  low-lying  wharf.  Almost  before 
we  got  out  of  the  boat  we  had  visitors.  But  they 
was  loafers,  all  of  them,  and  mean-looking.  Direct- 
ly, a  fiddle  commencing  to  play,  St.  Pierre  begun  to 
jig  on  the  dock  like  a  crazy  man.  I  saw  right  away 
that  I'd  have  to  be  careful  and  fast  if  I  got  shed 
of  the  trader's  freight  before  St.  Pierre  run  off  with 
the  wild  bunch,  so  I  says,  "You  stay  right  here  with 
the  boat  till  I  come  back,  both  of  you." 

I  saw  a  fat  man  coming  towards  us  packing  a  jug. 
I  waited  till  he  come  up  to  St.  Pierre  and  spoke  in 
French  to  him.  He  poured  out  a  tin  cup  full  of 
liquor  from  the  jug  and  St.  Pierre  downed  it, 
hungry.  The  man  passed  to  Mac  and  give  him  a 
drink  too.  Then  he  come  on  to  me.  "None  for  me," 
I  says.  "There's  plenty  time  for  that." 

They  both  promised  to  let  it  alone  while  I  was 
gone,  so  I  set  out  to  look  up  the  Ashley-Henry  place 
in  St.  Louis.  I  knowed  that  Mac's  word  was  plumb 
good,  but  I  couldn't  trust  St.  Pierre  noway,  and  I 
walked  fast. 

Mud  was  deep  in  the  streets  and  there  was  holes 
and  puddles  of  water  everywhere.  Great  teams  of 
yoked  cattle  was  coming  and  going  between  the 
levee  and  the  warehouses,  the  wheels  on  the  heavy 
wagons  cutting  down  deep  into  the  rain-soaked 
road.  In  mighty  nigh  half  of  the  open  doors, 
women,  dressed  up  fine,  stood  or  leaned  against  the 
casing  like  they  was  waiting  for  somebody.  Some 
of  them  spoke  to  me  and  wanted  me  to  stop  and  talk 

294 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        295 

a  spell,  but  I  wanted  to  get  shed  of  my  responsibil- 
ity as  well  as  our  fur  and  robes  and  I  kept  on  till 
I'd  found  the  Ashley-Henry  place. 

They  sent  some  men  down  to  the  boat  with  a 
wagon  right  away,  so  that  I  felt  there  wa'n't  so 
much  need  to  hurry  now.  But  I  went  right  off  to 
Shipman  and  Company's  store  and  showed  Mr. 
Shipman  the  paper  Dad  had  give  me. 

He  read  the  paper  and  called  a  man  named 
Bracket  to  read  it,  too.  "Mounts,"  he  says,  looking 
interested,  "this  will  clear  you  of  the  charge  of 
murder.  I  knew,  of  course,  that;  Wash  Lamkin  was 
dead  and  I  paid  the  order  you  gave  to  Beasley  and 
Abernathy;  but  I  knew  nothing  of  Lamkin's  con- 
fession till  now — not  a  word." 

Mr.  Bracket  handed  back  the  paper,  looking 
curious  at  me. 

"Remember  what  you've  read,  Bracket,"  said  Mr. 
Shipman.  "And  Mounts,  as  soon  as  you  can  spare 
the  time  I'll  go  with  you  to  see  Judge  Perkins,"  he 
says.  "You  aren't  likely  to  get  into  trouble  for  a 
little  while;  but  as  soon  as  you  can  we'd  best  make 
the  call." 

He  put  the  paper  in  an  iron  box,  and  I  was  satis- 
fied to  leave  it  there. 

Before  dark  the  mackinaw  was  empty  and  we'd 
sold  her  for  thirty  dollars.  Sixty-nine  hundred  and 
fifty  dollars  was  what  Shipman  and  Company  paid 
us  for  our  robes  and  fur,  and  half  of  it  was  mine, 
besides  the  money  left  from  what  Dad  had  given 
me.  I  felt  rich,  I  can  tell  you,  and  happy.  I  asked 
Mr.  Shipman  to  take  care  of  the  money  for  us  till 
we  wanted  it,  and  we  took  a  receipt  for  nigh  all — 
only  keeping  out  some  for  spending  money.  Mac 
held  out  more  than  I  did,  though  I  tried  to  talk  him 


296        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

out  of  it.  But  I  couldn't  and  I  had  to  leave  him  to 
go  see  the  Judge. 

His  home  was  up  on  the  bluffs  among  a  grove  of 
big  trees,  and  there  was  a  mighty  good-looking 
hound-dog  in  the  yard.  Mr.  Shipman  knocked  and 
a  nigger  let  us  in. 

Right  away  after  introducing  me  he  handed  Dad's 
paper  to  the  Judge,  a  little  fat  man  with  a  bald 
head,  and  smooth-shaved.  The  Judge  put  on  his 
glasses.  "Sit  down,  gentlemen,  sit  down,"  he  says, 
beginning  to  read. 

Directly  he  finished,  "Wash  Lamkin?  Why,  I 
grew  up  with  Wash,"  he  says,  taking  off  his  glasses 
and  wiping  them  on  his  coat-tails.  "And  I  reckon 
I  know  why  he  shot  Caley  Byers.  Everybody  ex- 
pected it  in  our  parts  long  ago."  He  looked  like  he 
felt  important,  and  shaking  hands  with  me,  says, 
"Mounts,  I'll  give  you  a  copy  of  this  paper  to  have 
with  you,  but  I  reckon  I'd  best  keep  the  original 
document,  myse'f ,"  he  says.  "Oh,  Eph !  Eph !" 

The  nigger  that  let  us  in  come  to  the  door.  "You 
go  and  fetch  Tuck  Taylor  here.  Tell  him  I  want 
him  mighty  quick,"  the  Judge  says.  "Tell  him  I  got 
some  news  that's  worth  his  time.  Understand?" 

"Tuck  runs  the  Gazette,"  he  told  me,  after  the 
nigger  had  gone  (and  he  went  mighty  quick.  I 
reckoned  he  was  afraid  of  the  Judge,  likely) . 

The  Judge  filled  a  long-stemmed  pipe  and  lit  it. 
"A  little  publicity  will  he'p  Mounts,  Tom,"  he  said 
to  Mr.  Shipman.  "Besides,  Tuck  is  mighty  keen  for 
news  from  up  river,  so  it  will  be  water  on  his  wheel, 
too."  He  sat  down  nigh  me.  "Had  a  right  smart 
brush  with  the  Injins,  I  reckon?"  he  says,  hitching 
his  chair  nigher  mine. 

"Yes,  sir,"  I  told  him. 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        297 

"Good  fighters,  ain't  they?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  I  says. 

"Mighty  good,  I  reckon,  from  what  honest  folks 
have  told  me,"  he  said,  puffing  hard  at  his  pipe. 
"But  when  I  was  a  boy  I  knew  a  man  who  used  to 
tell  me  that  one  good  whiteman  could  lick  a  whole 
tribe  of  Indians.  He  lived  in  our  town  and  said 
he'd  been  a  trapper  once  before  he  came  there.  His 
name  was  Alvin  Levigood,  and  he  was  a  cooper  by 
trade.  Old  Al'd  sit  straddle  of  a  log  that  used  to 
lie  down  by  the  cooper-shop  and  tell  us  boys  about 
his  Indian  fights,  till  we  could  see  blood  all  over 
everything.  Al  always  won  the  fight,  no  matter 
how  it  started  or  how  many  were  engaged  against 
him.  He  had  a  bad  scar  on  his  side,  a  mighty  nasty- 
lookin'  scar,  that  he  said  was  made  by  an  Indian's 
lance;  and  he'd  pull  up  his  shirt  and  show  us  the 
scar  every  time  he  yarned  about  his  battles.  He'd 
say,  'I  jest  wrenched  the  durn  spear  out  of  his 
hands  an'  druv  it  clean  thoo  his  belly.  Then  I  tuck 
his  scalp ;  yes,  sir,  an*  I  kep'  it  f  er  a  long  time,  too.' 

"Old  Al  was  a  hero ;  I  mean  our  hero ;  till  one  day 
his  wife  chased  him  clean  to  Hawkins'  Ferry  with 
a  mop,  right  through  town  lickety-split.  That  set- 
tled it  with  me.  I  never  believed  a  word  of  Al's 
stories  after  that.  Hark,"  the  Judge  says,  getting 
up  and  going  to  the  door.  "Here's  Tuck  now." 

He  introduced  me  to  a  thin  little  man  with  eyes 
like  a  mink's.  "Here,  Tuck,"  he  says,  looking  more 
important  than  ever,  "read  this  paper  first;  then 
Mounts  will  tell  you  his  story.  You  remember  the 
Byers  killing,  of  course?  Well,  Tuck,  I  know  the 
whole  story.  Grew  up  with  the  Lamkins  and 
Byerses.  And  you  can  say  in  your  paper  that  I 


298        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

know  what  Wash  Lamkin  says  in  that  paper  is 
true!" 

Mr.  Taylor  didn't  answer  nor  look  up  till  he'd 
finished  reading.  He  wa'n't  a  man  to  talk  much,  it 
looked  like.  "Thank  you,  Judge,"  he  says,  sitting 
down  at  the  table.  He  pulled  some  paper  out  of  his 
pocket  and  spread  it  out,  reached  for  a  quill  on  the 
table,  and  turning  to  me,  says,  "Now  Mounts,  let's 
have  it." 

I  told  it  short  as  I  could.  But  whenever  I  skipped 
the  Judge  or  Mr.  Taylor  knowed  it  and  questioned 
me,  till  first  I  knowed  I'd  told  it  all,  or  mighty  nigh 
all. 

"Thank  you,  Judge,  and  Mounts."  Mr.  Taylor  got 
up  to  go,  nodding  to  both  of  us.  "The  Gazette  will 
be  out  some  time  between  now  and  morning,  gen- 
tlemen, and  I've  got  to  bid  you  good  evening  if  this 
story  is  to  be  in." 

"There,  Tom,"  said  the  Judge,  after  Taylor  had 
gone,  "we  have  been  of  service  to  Tuck,  and  set 
Mounts  right  before  the  world  at  the  same  time." 

Men  was  going  and  coming  up  and  down  the 
muddy  streets  and  in  and  out  of  lighted  places 
when  Mr.  Shipman  and  I  went  back  to  the  store.  On 
the  way,  after  a  long  spell  of  silence,  each  picking 
his  trail  through  the  mud,  Mr.  Shipman  said,  "We 
do  business  in  a  queer  way,  Mounts.  I  was  think- 
ing of  the  order  you  gave  to  Beasley  and  Aber- 
nathy.  I  paid  it  because  I  knew  them,  though  I 
didn't  know  you.  I  knew  Lamkin  well  enough,  of 
course.  But  we  do  business  with  queer  people — 
people  who  do  almost  anything  but  cheat.  Did 
Beasley  or  Abernathy  know  about  Wash  Lamkin's 
confession?" 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        299 

"No,  sir,"  I  says,  "I  don't  reckon  they  did.  They 
just  signed  the  paper  for  Dad." 

Mac  and  St.  Pierre  was  gone.  I  expected  it, 
but  it  pestered  me.  "You'll  find  them  in  the  first 
dance  hall,  Mounts,"  laughed  Mr.  Shipman.  "And 
I'd  go  slow  while  I  was  in  town  if  I  was  you." 

Mac  had  a  lot  of  money  on  him.  I  ought  to  find 
him.  I  turned  to  go  out.  "Good-night,"  I  said, 
shaking  hands.  "And  thank  you,  sir,  for  what 
you've  done  for  me." 

"You're  entirely  welcome,"  he  smiled.  "Going 
back  up  the  river  soon?"  he  asked  me. 

"I  reckon  I'm  plumb  through,  sir,"  I  says.  "The 
way  I  got  it  figured  now,  I'm  going  home  to  Coon 
Creek  to  stay." 

He  reached  for  a  quill  on  his  desk.  "No,"  he  said. 
"You  aren't  through.  They  never  get  through, 
somehow.  You  are  a  born  plainsman,  Mounts,  and 
you'll  go  back.  It's  in  your  blood." 

"Good-night,"  I  says,  and  walked  out.  I  was 
lonesome  as  all  get  out ;  and  in  St.  Louis. 

I  looked  into  two  dance  halls  and  a  tavern  but 
Mac  and  St.  Pierre  wa'n't  there.  Then  I  crossed  the 
street  to  a  bright-lit  place  where  there  was  a  heap 
of  music  and  noise.  And  there  they  was.  St. 
Pierre  with  one  arm  around  Mac's  neck,  was  flour- 
ishing a  glass  of  liquor,  singing  and  keeping  time 
with  the  slopping  glass,  over  Mac's  head. 

I  elbowed  my  way  inside.  I  couldn't  hear  myse'f 
think.  I  reached  over  and  touched  Mac.  "Come 
out,"  I  said  in  Cree.  "I  must  speak  with  you." 

He  was  drunk.  I  could  see  that.  But  his  face 
sobered  quick.  He  thought  I  was  in  trouble.  He 
shook  himse'f  loose  from  St.  Pierre's  arm  and  fol- 
lowed me  outside. 


300        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

"Let  us  go  to  bed,"  I  said,  taking  his  arm. 

He  pulled  back.  "No,  Lone  Wolf,"  he  said.  "I 
am  in  St.  Louis.  I  am  playing  now,  and  I  shall  play 
until  I  have  finished  four  days  that  way.  Then," 
he  reached  for  my  shoulder  to  steady  himse'f. 
"Then  I  shall  go  back  with  presents  for  my  woman 
and  children.  Are  you  going  with  me,  Lone  Wolf?" 

"I  am  going  to  my  home  tomorrow,"  I  told  him. 

"When  will  you  come  back,  back  here  from  your 
home?"  he  asked  anxiously. 

I  felt  of  my  ring.  If  I  gave  it  to  him  now  he 
would  lose  it. 

"In  ten  days,"  I  said.  "Then  I  will  know  if  I  am 
going  back  up  the  river." 

"I  will  wait  ten  days,  then,  Lone  Wolf,"  he  said. 
"Come,  let  us  go  to  St.  Pierre  and  sing." 

"No,"  I  said.  "I  am  going  to  my  bed,  and  I  wish 
you  were  going,  too." 

But  I  knowed  him.  When  he  said  "no"  he  was  set 
as  a  mule,  and  there  wa'n't  any  use  to  coax. 

I  didn't  sleep  a  wink.  I  thought  of  Mac  all  night. 
Then,  too,  I  got  to  itching  to  see  Aunt  Lib  till  I 
wanted  to  get  up  and  go  afoot.  I  was  glad  when 
day  come,  and  I  got  up  and  ate  breakfast  as  quick 
as  I  could. 

After  that  I  went  to  the  store  and  got  two  thou- 
sand and  five  hundred  dollars  and  a  suit  of  clothes 
that  had  been  made  for  Mr.  Shipman  himse'f.  They 
fitted  me  fine  and  looked  good  on  me.  I  had  neve* 
owned  a  regular  suit  of  clothes  before,  and  I  felt 
proud,  though  mighty  uncomfortable  in  them,  after 
the  clothes  I'd  been  wearing.  I  rolled  up  my  duds 
and  Mr.  Shipman  promised  to  keep  them,  and  Dad's 
rifle,  till  I  called  for  them.  Then  I  went  out  to  find 
Mac. 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        301 

I  hunted  the  town  over.  But  some  places  was 
shut  up  and  in  others  that  was  open  only  niggers 
was  in  them,  cleaning  up  after  the  night's  carouse. 
I  had  to  give  it  up. 

At  a  sales  corral  I  bought  me  a  good  hoss  and 
saddle,  after  which  I  went  back  to  the  store  to  say 
good-bye  to  Mr.  Shipman  and  ask  him  to  keep  an 
eye  on  Mac.  He  said  he'd  do  the  best  he  could,  and 
laughed  when  I  told  him  I'd  be  back  in  ten  days, 
and  handed  me  a  copy  of  the  Gazette.  "Your  story 
is  in  it,"  he  said,  "and  Tuck  has  told  it  well." 

"Good-bye,  sir,"  I  says.  "And  I'll  sure  be  back 
in  ten  days." 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

When  I  got  down  at  the  gate  and  opened  it,  it 
squeaked  loud  like  it  always  did.  And  here  come 
old  Bugle,  tickled  plumb  to  death,  and  Bing  with 
him.  They  set  up  a  howl  that  you  could  hear  a  mile 
and  I  was  mighty  nigh  as  tickled  as  they  was.  Then 
Aunt  Lib  come  running  down  the  walk.  "If  it  ain't 
Lige!"  she  says,  hugging  me  tight  and  beginning  to 
cry.  It  was  a  regular  bedlam  for  a  spell,  with  the 
children  all  talking  at  once  and  asking  questions. 

When  I'd  got  loose  from  Aunt  Lib,  Uncle  Eldin 
shook  hands.  "Glad  to  see  ye  again,  boy,"  he  says ; 
"and  supper's  ready,  too." 

"An*  we  got  chicken,"  says  Jinny. 

"Fried  chicken,  Lige,"  piped  Jane  Ellen,  taking 
hold  of  my  hand. 

"Yes,  an  I'd  better  be  'tendin'  to  it,"  says  Aunt 
Lib,  wiping  her  eyes  on  her  apron. 

We  walked  in  a  bunch,  with  the  hounds  wriggling 
about  us.  "Where's  Eben?"  I  asked,  not  seeing 
him. 

"Pap  bound  him  out,"  says  Jinny,  and  that  set  off 
Aunt  Lib. 

"The  crops  wa'n't  much  last  fall,  Lige,"  she  told 
me,  "an'  Eldin  had  to  mortgage,  so  we  bound  Eben 
out,  though  goodness  knows  we  needed  him  bad 
enough.  Now  git  washed,  Lige.  Eldin'll  take  keer 
of  yer  hoss." 

She  fussed  around  the  stove  and  table,  talking 
fast  and  fretting,  like  she  always  did.  "I  never  was 
so  glad  of  a  thing  as  I  was  to  git  yer  letter,  Lige," 
she  says,  pouring  the  tea.  "I  jest  cried  an'  cried 
till  it  got  here." 

302 


LIGE  MOUNTS:   FREE  TRAPPER      303 

And  I  was  mighty  glad  it  had  got  there,  even  if 
it  did  take  a  time,  because  I  knowed  she  had  fretted 
awful. 

After  supper  I  told  them  about  my  trip,  some  of 
it.  Then  I  gave  Uncle  Eldin  the  Gazette  and  he 
read  what  it  said  aloud.  It  was  pretty  nigh  the 
truth,  only  Taylor  had  made  the  fights  seem  worse 
than  they  was.  I'd  read  it  the  night  before  and 
knowed  that,  but  I  let  it  go. 

"Massey  sakes !  Lige,  I  don't  see  how  you  ever  did 
git  here  alive!"  Aunt  Lib  hugged  me  like  she  had 
at  the  gate.  "It's  awful  to  think  of  that  pore  man 
tellin'  of  killin'  Caley  Byers  with  his  last  breath," 
she  says.  "I  'low  ye  got  enough  of  that  life  to  last 
ye,  ain't  ye,  Lige?" 

Her  voice  sounded  like  she'd  bet  I  had. 

"I  don't  know,  Aunt  Lib,"  I  says.  "That's  what's 
pestering  me.  I  wanted  to  get  back  here  bad 
enough;  but  just  as  soon's  I  did,  everything  looked 
small  to  me,  and  fenced-in,  like.  I  never  knowed 
Coon  Creek  was  so  small  and  lazy-looking.  But  it 
sure  is;  an'  muddy."  Then  I  thought  I  was  mebby 
fretting  her,  so  I  says,  "Eben  must  have  growed  a 
lot  in  a  year.  I  wish  he  was  here." 

I  knowed  they'd  sleep  better,  so  I  told  them  they 
could  buy  Eben  off  and  that  I  had  fetched  them  two 
thousand  dollars  for  their  own.  Aunt  Lib  was  sure 
then  we'd  all  be  killed  for  the  money  in  the  night, 
and  I  reckoned  mebby  I'd  made  a  mistake  to  tell 
them,  though  it  would  be  a  change  of  torments,  any- 
how, I  figured.  But  she  said  she  wouldn't  take  the 
money  noway,  and  cried. 

"There's  more  where  it  come  from,"  I  told  her. 
And  that  set  her  off  again. 

"Ye  won't  never  go  back  up  the  river,  will  ye, 


304        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

Lige?"  she  whimpered.  "The  Injins'll  kill  ye  or 
ye'll  git  yerse'f  drowned.  Stay  here  where  folks 
has  got  religion  and  fears  God." 

I  couldn't  sleep  that  night.  It  was  smothering 
and  close,  and  the  bed  was  too  soft.  I  thought  of 
what  Aunt  Lib  had  said  about  folks  fearing  God, 
and  then  I  thought  of  St.  Louis  and  Bluebird  and 
Mac,  until  everything  was  mixed  and  upside  down. 
I  had  told  myse'f  there  was  peace  here,  and  there 
was.  At  least,  there  wa'n't  any  fighting  between 
men.  But  somehow  it  wa'n't  the  kind  of  peace  that 
let  a  man  go  to  sleep. 

Nigh,  two  o'clock  I  heered  a  fuss  in  the  barn. 
Then  directly  Uncle  Eldin  got  up  and  went  out. 
When  he  come  back  I  heered  him  ask,  "Where's  the 
hoss-medicine,  Lib?"  and  her  tell  him  it  was  in  the 
cupboard  on  the  top  she'f .  I  got  up  and  dressed. 

Poor  old  Becky  was  dead  in  the  barn.  It  upset 
me,  and  I  knowed  Aunt  Lib  would  fret.  The  mare 
was  old  and  wore  out,  but  she'd  been  faithful  and 
he'ped  a  heap  to  make  the  place  for  us  there. 

I  walked  out  under  the  stars.  The  night  air 
smelled  so  good  after  the  loft  that  I  didn't  want  to 
go  back.  An  owl  hooted  over  in  the  timber,  and  I 
thought  right  away  of  the  Crees — of  Bluebird.  "A 
warrior  is  dead,  sure  'nough,"  I  thought.  "And 
even  old  Black  Bear  couldn't  have  saved  her." 

I  knowed  I  had  to  go  in  with  Uncle  Eldin,  but  the 
minute  I  set  my  foot  inside  I  wished  I  was  out 
again. 

"How  is  she,  Eldin?"  Aunt  Lib's  voice  was  full 
of  fret. 

"She's  dead,"  Uncle  Eldin  says,  setting  the  Ian- 
thorn  on  the  table  and  sighing. 

"Never  mind,  Aunt  Lib,"  I  says,  hurrying  to  keep 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        305 

her  from  crying  if  I  could.  "We'll  buy  a  team  of 
good  bosses  tomorrow.  By  cracky!  we  can  afford 
it,  too." 

But  she  had  something  else  on  her  mind.  "Pore 
oF  Becky,"  she  says,  and  then,  "I  believe  Alexander 
Hamilton's  got  the  fever.  He's  jest  a-burnin'  up, 
an*  so  cross  a  body  cain't  live  with  him.  You'd  best 
see  Doc  Seaberry  tomorrow,  Eldin,  an'  git  him  some 
medicine.  Take  Lige's  hat.  Good  land!"  she  says. 
"An'  blow  out  that  lanthorn.  It's  nigh  the  last  can- 
dle in  the  house,  till  I  git  time  to  make  some  more. 
If  'tain't  one  thing,  it's  another." 

I  reckoned  it  was — with  nothing  between  them, 
and  climbed  the  ladder  to  the  loft. 

But  I  couldn't  sleep.  It  was  all  I  could  do  to 
breathe.  I  looked  out  at  the  stars  till  they  faded. 
Then  I  got  up  and  went  to  the  barn  and  hitched  old 
Tom  to  the  stoneboat.  I  reckoned  I'd  get  old  Becky 
out  of  sight  before  Aunt  Lib  got  to  see  her.  So  I 
hauled  her  over  into  the  timber  and  left  her  there 
for  the  varmi'ts.  They  was  the  sneaky  kind  that 
didn't  howl  over  a  feast,  nor  kill  their  meat;  and 
some  way  I  got  to  thinking  of  the  strength  of  men 
and  brutes  that  lived  on  the  plains. 

Smoke  was  coming  out  of  the  chimney  when  I  got 
back  from  the  timber.  And  after  all  my  trying  to 
get  home,  I  didn't  want  to  go  in  the  house.  But  I 
knowed  I  had  to. 

Aunt  Lib  met  me  at  the  door,  askin',  "Where  on 
airth  have  ye  been?" 

Not  waiting  for  me  to  answer,  she  went  on, 
"Alexander  Hamilton's  right  sick  this  morning,  and 
Eldin'll  have  to  go  to  the  Crossin',  Lige." 

"I'm  goin'  too,"  I  told  her.  "And  we'll  fetch 
home  a  good  team  and  some  medicine.  Then  tomor- 
row we'll  fetch  Eben  home." 


306        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

I  thought  that  ought  to  quiet  her;  but  Aunt  Lib 
couldn't  be  quiet  noway,  I  reckon. 

As  soon  as  breakfast  was  over  we  set  out  afoot 
for  the  Crossing,  Uncle  Eldin,  Charles,  and  me, 
though  Charles  ought  to  have  stayed  home  to  he'p, 
I  thought.  The  trail  hadn't  changed,  nor  Dan's 
Clearing.  The  big  down-tree  was  there  with  its 
scraggly  roots;  but  there  wa'n't  any  squirrel  on 
them,  and  Dad  was  up  on  the  Marias.  I  thought  of 
that  morning  when  I  took  the  corn  to  the  mill  and 
how  mighty  nigh  I'd  come  to  looking  behind  the 
down-tree  when  the  squirrel  barked  so  hard.  If  I 
had,  mebby  everything  would  have  been  different 
now.  Mebby  Dan  would  be  alive,  and  Caley  Byers. 
Mebby  the  owl  when  he  flew  out  of  the  bushes  and 
made  me  believe  it  was  him  the  squirrel  was  bark- 
ing  at,  took  two  lives  and  changed  another.  Charles 
was  ahead,  and  Uncle  Eldin.  They  didn't  notice  the 
down-tree,  and  I  kept  my  thoughts  to  myse'f .  It 
seemed  like  both  of  them  was  plumb  strangers  to 
me,  and  of  another  tribe. 

I  got  to  figuring.  It  took  two  days  of  hard  riding 
to  come  from  St.  Louis,  and  it  would  take  two  to 
go  back,  without  mishap;  I'd  best  call  it  three. 
That  was  five  days  out  of  the  ten.  If  I  kept  my 
word  I'd  have  to  hustle  to  get  back  to  St.  Louis  to 
catch  Mac  and  give  him  the  ring.  And  I'd  have  to 
do  that.  Two  or  three  days  was  all  I  dared  to  wait 
before  I  started  back.  I  made  up  my  mind  to  that. 
I  knowed  Mac  would  wait  the  ten  days  but  no 
longer,  and  I  must  see  him  and  send  Bluebird  the 
ring. 

There  was  a  lot  of  men  in  Hawkins'  store,  and 
Mr.  Hawkins  was  reading  the  Gazette  aloud,  when 
we  went  in.  They  all  wanted  to  shake  hands  at 
once  and  was  all  mighty  curious  about  Dad.  "An' 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        307 

thet  was  the  first  time  ye  knowed  he'd  killed  Caley 
Byers,  eh?  Gosh  A'mighty!  What  if  he'd  a-died 
'thout  tellin'  ye?"  says  the  blacksmith,  spitting  at  a 
box  of  sawdust  clean  across  the  store. 

"Well,  didn't  I  always  say  Lige  never  shot  Caley 
Byers?  Didn't  I,  say?"  Mr.  Hawkins  looked  from 
one  to  the  other,  till  finally  the  blacksmith  he'ped 
him  out. 

"Yep,"  he  says,  "ye  kep'  a-sayin'  it,  shore  'nuff." 
And  Mr.  Hawkins  took  a  chew  of  tobacco  and  give 
him  one. 

There  was  teams  a-plenty  for  sale,  and  directly 
Uncle  Eldin  and  I  went  to  look  at  them  that  was 
nearby.  Charles  went  off  with  Lem  Cutts'  girl, 
Mandy,  and  I  could  see  it  was  a  mash,  sure  enough. 
But  she  wa'n't  much.  Her  hair  was  always  mussed 
like  she'd  just  got  up,  and  her  aprons  wa'n't  ever 
clean.  Besides  she  was  hog-fat,  and  lazy  as  Charles 
every  bit. 

We  bought  a  good  team  of  bay  mares  and  paid 
off  the  mortgage  on  the  place.  Ezra  Dyke  held  to 
it  till  I  had  to  pay  a  whole  year's  interest  that 
wa'n't  due,  before  he'd  let  go.  Then  Uncle  Eldin 
went  over  to  see  Doc  Seaberry;  so  by  the  time  we 
got  started  back  it  was  past  two  o'clock,  and  cloudy. 

I  was  up  early  next  morning,  and  figuring  on  how 
to  tell  Aunt  Lib  I  had  to  go  back  to  St.  Louis,  I 
walked  down  the  Coon  Creek  trail  a  piece  with 
Bugle.  The  meadow  larks  was  singing  just  like 
they  did  on  the  plains,  the  notes  a  little  different, 
though,  and  not  so  sweet.  I  could  see  in  my  mind 
the  great,  endless  stretches  of  green,  the  rolling 
land,  the  treeless  land  of  the  buffalo,  and  I  felt 
shut-in,  like,  and  tied. 

After  breakfast  we  went  after  Eben,  and  bar- 
gained with  old  man  Yenney  till  I  mighty  nigh 


308        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

shook  him.    At  last  he  let  the  boy  go  for  sixty  dol- 
lars, and  he  come  home  behind  the  new  team. 

I  reckoned  I'd  done  nigh  all  I  could  and  that  I 
might's  well  have  it  over  with,  so  after  supper  I 
says,  "I've  got  to  go  back  to  St.  Louis  right  away 
and  find  Mac.  I  haven't  made  up  my  mind  yet,  but 
I  reckon  I'll  come  back  here.  But  if  I  don't,  you'll 
know " 

"That  ye've  gone  back  up  that  river  to  git  yerse'f 
killed!"  Aunt  Lib  begun  to  fret  again. 

"Mebby  I'll  come  back,"  I  told  her.  "Anyway, 
here's  four  hundred  dollars  for  your  own,  Aunt  Lib. 
I  want  you  to  spend  it  for  anything  you  want.  It's 
only  for  you." 

Then  she  did  cry.    And  I  couldn't  stop  her. 

I  called  Uncle  Eldin  out  and  give  him  all  but  ten 
dollars  of  what  I  had  left.  "Uncle  Eldin,"  I  says, 
"you're  a  man,  an'  know  I've  plumb  got  to  keep  my 
word.  I  told  Mac  I'd  be  back  in  ten  days ;  and  he's 
my  pardner." 

"When  must  ye  go,  boy,  to  make  it?"  he  asked, 
going  back  in  the  house  with  me. 

"Soon,"  I  says. 

And  right  away  I  climbed  up  the  ladder  to  the 
loft. 

I  waited  till  I  reckoned  they  was  all  asleep ;  then, 
carrying  my  boots  and  rifle,  I  crept  out  on  the  shed- 
roof  and  let  myse'f  down  to  the  ground.  I  felt  like 
it  was  low-down  and  ornery  to  sneak  away  from 
my  own  kin ;  but  I  jest  couldn't  stand  it  to  see  Aunt 
Lib  take  on  and  cry. 

Bugle  come  dancing  around  me,  and  into  the  barn 
where  my  hoss  and  saddle  was.  When  I  led  out  my 
hoss,  though  I  knowed  he'd  howl  like  all  get  out,  I 
shut  the  door  on  him  and  rode  off. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

When  the  gate  creaked  Bugle  begun  to  let  folks 
know  where  he  was.  I  got  on  and  struck  the  Injin 
trot  and  never  quit  till  plumb  noon,  when  I  stopped 
at  a  clearing  to  'tend  to  my  hoss  good,  and  get  my 
dinner.  I  waited  an  hour  afterwards  to  rest  my 
hoss,  and  then  went  on.  I  had  to  catch  Mac,  and  I 
didn't  have  but  three  days  to  do  it,  though  I  reck- 
oned that  was  plenty.  I'd  send  the  ring  to  Bluebird 
and  let  it  go  at  that.  But  I  knowed  I'd  never  stand 
it  to  live  with  Aunt  Lib  again.  I  reckoned  I'd  get 
me  a  place  in  St.  Louis  and  stay  there.  Then  if  the 
folks  needed  me  I  could  he'p  them. 

It  had  been  more  or  less  cloudy  all  day,  and  along 
about  six  o'clock  I  heered  thunder.  I  couldn't  only 
see  a  little  of  the  sky  through  the  tree-tops,  and  it 
was  bad  and  black,  so  I  reckoned  I'd  camp  at  the 
next  clearing  and  call  it  a  day. 

Directly  some  big  rain  drops  splattered  on  me, 
and  the  wind,  like  it  had  been  hid  and  waiting  for  a 
signal,  charged  the  bushes  and  tree-tops,  and  they 
bent  and  twisted  and  tossed,  their  leaves  trembling 
and  showing  their  under  sides  as  though  they  was 
scared.  Right  then,  like  the  wind  had  shook  him 
down  off  a  limb,  a  tall  man  with  a  long  black  beard 
stood  in  the  road  ahead,  waving  his  arms. 

I  pulled  up  beside  him.  He  was  bare-headed  and 
ragged.  "Howdy,"  I  says.  And  he  begun  to  whim- 
per and  take  on  mighty  bad. 

I  got  down.  "What's  ailing  you?"  I  says,  taking 
hold  of  his  arm. 

Then  he  broke  plumb  down  and  cried.  His  big 
body  shook  with  sobs  and  he  couldn't  talk. 


310        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

"I'll  he'p  you,  stranger,"  I  says.  "Tell  me  what's 
wrong."  And  I  put  my  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"I'm  af  eered  she's  dyin',"  he  says,  his  voice  shak- 
ing like  he  had  the  chills. 

It  layed  hold  of  me.  "What's  happened?"  I  says. 
"And  where  is  she?" 

"She  fell — over  yonder,"  he  says,  pointing  out 
into  the  heavy  timber. 

Mebby  we  could  get  her  on  my  hoss,  I  thought. 
"Well,  let's  not  stand  here,"  I  says. 

He  wiped  his  eyes  with  his  big,  dirty  hand,  and 
struck  out,  me  at  his  heels  leading  my  hoss 

It  was  sprinkling  again  and  thunder  was  growl- 
ing. The  clouds  overhead  being  black,  it  was  nigh 
dark  under  the  trees.  I  could  just  make  out  the 
man's  broad  back  ahead  of  me  as  he  picked  his  way 
among  the  wet  bushes.  Directly  there  come  a  blind- 
ing flash  of  lightning  right  with  a  clap  of  thunder. 
I  thought  of  that  night  under  the  bed  in  my  father's 
cabin,  and  Lafe  Daws'  big  cowhide  boots  leaking 
water.  I  was  wet  plumb  to  my  skin. 

The  man  stopped  by  the  big  root  of  an  over- 
turned tree.  "Look  yonder  under  there,"  he  says, 
just  so  I  could  hear  him  above  the  pelting  rain. 
"Ain't  it  a  sight,  stranger?"  and  he  begun  to  whim- 
per and  cry  again. 

I  bent  over  and  looked  into  a  deep  hole  the  root 
had  tore  in  the  ground.  There  was  a  cracking 
sound  that  sizzled,  like,  and  a  light  streaked  in  my 
eyes  and  went  out.  That's  the  last  I  knowed  for  a 
long  spell. 

When  I  opened  my  eyes  it  was  daylight  and  I  was 
laying  on  my  back  in  a  pool  of  water.  I  tried  to  sit 
up,  but  didn't  make  it.  Gobs  of  mud  fell  off  the 
root  when  I  moved  and  rain  was  falling  down 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        311 

through  the  shining  leaves  overhead.  I  was  stiff 
and  my  head  hurt  me.  I  couldn't  figure  it  out.  I 
tried  again  to  sit  up,  and  made  it.  Then  I  climbed 
out  of  the  hole;  and  the  minute  I  got  on  my  feet  I 
remembered. 

My  rifle  was  gone,  and  my  hoss.  My  pockets  was 
turned  inside  out.  I  was  mad  clean  through,  and  I 
reckon  that  was  good  for  me,  warming  me  up,  like. 
But  where  was  the  road?  I  was  all  turned  around 
and  fuddled.  There  wa'n't  any  feeling  in  my  legs, 
and  my  arms  ached,  and  my  head.  I  didn't  know 
which  way  to  go,  but  struck  out,  stumbling  in  the 
bushes  that  showered  me,  and  falling  over  logs  that 
barked  my  shins,  till  common  sense  come  to  he'p 
me  and  I  sat  down  to  let  it.  I'd  find  the  sun  first; 
then  I'd  know  where  the  road  was.  I  reached  for 
my  knife,  but  the  pocket  being  inside-out,  I  peeled 
a  little  twig  with  my  fingers  and  wet  my  thumb  nail. 
I  set  the  twig  on  it,  and  found  the  sun,  not  more 
than  two  hours  high.  Cracky!  I  might  miss  Mac. 
Mebby  I'd  been  a  week  in  the  hole.  I  didn't  know. 
My  heart  nigh  smothered  me  when  I  thought  mebby 
the  ten  days  was  up.  I  started  on,  walking  faster 
than  was  good  for  me,  till  I  run  onto  the  road.  Then 
I  set  out  towards  St.  Louis,  weak  and  sick  as  a  cat. 
I  don't  know  how  long  I  traveled,  nor  what  time  it 
was,  for  it  was  dark  when  I  saw  a  light  in  the  win- 
dow of  a  cabin. 

I  remember  of  somebody  opening  the  door,  and 
that  I  tried  to  tell  them  what  had  happened  to  me. 
Losing  my  rifle  was  on  my  mind,  and  Mac;  but 
while  I  was  speaking  the  room  teetered  and  com- 
menced to  whirl.  I  reached  out  to  take  hold  of  a 
chair.  Then  the  light  went  out. 

Directly   I   heered   a   man    say,    "He's    coming 


312        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

'round.  He'p  me  lift  him  on  the  bed.  His  head's 
bad-cut  an'  his  hair's  full  of  blood." 

Then  I  knowed  somebody  was  carrying  my  head 
and  feet.  My  body  didn't  seem  to  be  there;  but  I 
didn't  care  what  became  of  me,  noway. 

Directly  the  light  come  on  and  everything  was 
still  for  a  spell,  till  I  heered  a  woman  say,  "Mas- 
sey!  he's  only  a  boy.  Ye'd  best  saddle  Rusty  an' 
fetch  Doc  Tate  to  see  him,  Laf e.  He's  got  a  fever." 

I  waked  up  and  went  to  sleep  over  and  over  again, 
all  the  time  pestering  about  Mac  and  my  rifle,  but 
only  half  caring  about  either.  Sometimes  I  knowed 
I  was  talking,  though  it  seemed  like  somebody  fur- 
nished the  words,  and  they  didn't  make  sense,  which 
I  knowed.  I'd  try  to  straighten  them  out,  like  I  was 
changing  Cree  to  English,  but  in  spite  of  me  they 
was  gibberish,  I  dreamed  a  lot  of  Bluebird;  and 
once  I  saw  the  man  with  the  black  beard  wearing 
the  necklace  of  little  shells  she  had  given  me.  He 
had  taken  it  out  of  my  coat  pocket,  and  I  followed 
him  till  I  was  plumb  tired  out  trying  to  get  it  back. 

By  and  by  my  mind  got  clear  and  I  saw  that  I 
was  in  a  bed.  A  woman  come  to  the  bed  and  bent 
over  me,  a  woman  with  a  kind,  sweet  face. 

"How  long  have  I  been  here?"  I  asked  her,  afraid 
of  her  answer. 

"This  is  the  tenth  day,"  she  says,  "but  don't  fret 
none,  boy.  We  got  plenty  of  room  and  lots  to  eat. 
Massey!  We're  right  glad  to  he'p  ye." 

Tenth  day!  Mac  had  gone.  I  couldn't  send  the 
ring  to  Bluebird.  Mac  had  said  he'd  wait  ten  days. 
I  knowed  him.  He  was  gone.  I  just  weakened 
down,  like,  and  if  I'd  been  a  woman  I'd  sure  have 
cried. 

"Gee,  Buck !  Blue !"  I  could  hear  a  man  plowing 
over  in  the  clearing  and  see  him  through  the  open 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        313 

door  which  was  bordered  with  morning-glory  vines 
in  bloom.  A  blue  jay  in  a  stick  cage  on  a  bench  out- 
side, jabbered  at  others  of  his  kind  in  the  trees, 
like  he  envied  them;  and  I  sure  knowed  he  did. 
There  was  a  clock  that  ticked  slow,  with  brass 
hands,  and  a  picture  of  George  Washington  on  a 
hoss.  The  glass  was  cracked  on  it,  and  I  reckoned 
the  roof  had  leaked  sometimes,  for  the  picture  was 
mighty  nigh  spoiled  by  a  yellow  streak  cutting  the 
hoss  plumb  in  two. 

"Cracky!"  I  says,  fretting,  and  the  woman  sat 
down  on  my  bed  and  put  a  cold  cloth  on  my  fore- 
head. I  shut  my  eyes  to  think.  I'd  have  to  find 
somebody  to  take  the  ring  up  the  river.  I'd  have 
to.  I  couldn't  lay  there  like  a  knot  on  a  log,  noway. 
I  opened  my  eyes  again  and  they  lit  on  a  good-look- 
ing rifle  over  the  fireplace.  I  hoped  mine  would 
bust  and  kill  the  man  that  stole  it;  only  I  hated  to 
have  the  old  gun  spoiled,  or  bear  the  disgrace  of 
busting. 

"I  plumb  got  to  get  to  St.  Louis,"  I  says,  trying 
to  sit  up. 

"There,"  she  says,  pushing  me  back,  kind  and 
gentle.  "I  know  it's  been  pesterin'  ye  right  smart," 
she  says,  like  I'd  told  it  before,  "but  ye  cain't  travel 
yit.  Mebby  in  four  or  five  days  if  ye're  good  an* 
stay  quiet.  Lafe'll  take  ye  to  town  as  soon's  ye 
kin  go." 

And  there  wa'n't  anything  to  do,  only  lay  there 
and  wait;  and  I  knowed  it. 

Their  name  was  Bartlett — Lafe  and  Susan  Bart- 
lett — good  folks  as  ever  lived,  and  kind.  I  sure 
made  it  up  to  them  both,  with  an  extra  present  for 
her,  besides,  when  at  last  Lafe  drove  me  to  St. 
Louis.  I'll  never  forget  them  as  long  as  I  live,  and 
keep  my  mind. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 

Mr.  Shipman  was  right  glad  to  see  me  and  won- 
dered what  had  kept  me.  I  told  him  what  hap- 
pened, and  quick  as  I  could,  says,  "Have  you  seen 
Mac?" 

I  held  my  breath. 

"Not  for  several  days,"  he  told  me;  and  I  let  go 
and  give  it  up. 

"He  kept  coming  to  me  for  money  and  I  reckon 
he's  had  a  big  spree.  The  last  time  I  saw  him — four 
or  five  days  ago — he  bought  a  bill  of  goods  which 
he  told  me  he  was  sending  up  the  river  with  a  boat. 
His  money's  all  been  drawn,  and  he  may  have  gone 
himse'f ;  but  I  reckon  you'll  find  him  about  town." 

I  knowed  I  wouldn't,  though  I'd  look.  He  had 
waited  more  than  ten  days,  I  figured.  There  wa'n't 
any  time  to  fool.  I  got  three  hundred  dollars  and 
started  out. 

"Are  you  going  up  the  river,  Mounts?"  Mr.  Ship- 
man asked,  walking  with  me  towards  the  door. 

"I  haven't  made  up  my  mind,  yet,  sir,"  I  says. 
"But  anyway  I  need  a  hoss  and  some  things."  I 
wouldn't  have  to  buy  a  rifle,  noway.  Dad's  was 
mine,  and  there  wa'n't  any  better  gun. 

I  went  every  place;  and  asked  nigh  everybody  I 
reckoned  might  know  of  Mac,  if  they'd  seen  him; 
but  they  hadn't,  not  for  days.  Some  men  said  he 
was  gone,  they  reckoned,  and  others  said  he  was 
here,  or  there,  they  reckoned;  but  I  could  see  they 
was  only  making  talk.  I  was  leaving  the  Albemarle 
tavern  and  dance-hall  when  somebody  called  me  by 

314 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        315 

name,  making  me  nigh  jump  out  of  my  boots.  It 
was  Alex  Beasley,  sober  as  a  judge,  and  as  tickled 
to  see  me  as  I  was  to  see  him. 

"You  seen  Mac?"  I  says  first  thing. 

"He's  pulled  out,"  he  told  me.  "He  had  a  big 
spree,  him  an*  a  Frenchman,  St.  Pierre.  I  was  with 
them  six  nights  ago,  and  they  said  they  was  going 
up  the  river  in  the  morning.  I  ain't  seen  'em  since." 

That  settled  it.  Even  though  I'd  knowed  he  was 
gone,  when  Alex  told  me  I  felt  plumb  left  out  and 
miserable. 

We  went  back  into  the  tavern  and  Alex,  moving 
a  chair  to  a  table,  says,  "Sit  down,  Lige,"  and  we 
both  sat  down  to  visit.  It  was  good  to  see  Alex 
again,  and  I  needed  to  talk. 

"Tell  me  how  you  made  out  with  the  Crees,"  he 
says,  going  on,  before  I  could  start,  to  tell  me  that 
Jake  and  himse'f  was  pulling  out  in  a  day  or  two 
for  old  Fort  Lisa  with  the  last  supplies  they'd  use 
there.  "  'Tain't  far  from  the  mouth  of  the  Platte," 
he  says,  pouring  liquor  into  two  glasses  the  man 
fetched  to  the  table. 

"Better  go  along  with  us,"  he  says,  lifting  a  glass. 
"Come,"  he  says,  "here's  to  old  Dad,  the  best  man 
that  was  ever  on  the  plains !" 

I  picked  up  my  glass  and  downed  the  liquor.  I'd 
drink  to  that.  Alex  was  Dad's  pardner  and  mine. 

I  told  him  about  my  luck  and  finally  about  the 
fight  with  the  Blackfeet  hoss  thieves.  That  tickled 
him  and  he  poured  put  more  liquor,  and  I  drank 
with  him.  Directly  they  lit  candles,  but  having  so 
much  to  say,  we  never  budged.  I  drank  when  Alex 
did,  though  not  so  much,  at  first. 

Directly  some  women  come  in,  and  the  fiddles 
started.  Alex  got  up  and  danced,  but  not  knowing 


316        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

how  to  dance,  I  sat  there  till  he'd  finished.  Then 
he  and  two  women  sat  down  at  the  table  and  he  got 
one  of  them  called  Belle  to  sing  "Should  Auld 
Acquaintance  Be  Forgot."  Alex  cried  over  the 
song,  till  Belle  says,  "Come  on.  Good  God!  let's 
not  be  mournful.  Let's  dance." 

They  wanted  me  to  try  it,  and  at  last  I  did, 
though  I  knowed  I  couldn't  dance  a  lick.  There  was 
a  lot  of  singing  and  two  fights.  But  the  fights  was 
stopped  quick  as  they  started.  A  big  yaller  nigger 
took  care  of  that.  He  was  a  bully  and  needed  kill- 
ing. I  saw  him  hit  a  Frenchman  and  break  his  jaw, 
because  he  put  his  arm  around  a  couple  that  was 
dancing.  It  made  me  want  to  go  to  war,  myse'f . 
That  was  early  in  the  evening.  But  what  went  on 
afterwards  I  don't  remember. 

It  was  afternoon  when  I  waked  up,  in  a  stuffy 
little  room  without  a  window  in  it.  My  head  was 
thumping  awful,  and  the  room  was  a  sight — every- 
thing on  the  floor,  including  myse'f — old  clothes, 
men's  and  women's,  and  jugs,  and  filth,  too.  My 
mouth  was  parched,  so  that  when  I  tried  to  call 
Alex,  I  couldn't. 

I  got  up  and  went  to  the  door  that  let  in  what 
light  there  was.  I  felt  sick  and  dizzy.  I  went  out 
into  a  hall,  nigh  as  dark  as  the  room,  and  stumbled 
along  to  a  door  at  its  end.  Cracky !  when  I  opened 
it  the  light  cut  through  my  eyes  into  my  brain,  and 
I  nigh  fell  down.  Every  heart-beat  felt  like  some- 
thing was  pounding  on  a  boil  in  my  head. 

"Mornin'."  A  big  fat-faced  man  was  slapping  at 
flies  on  the  bar  with  a  towel. 

"Howdy,"  I  says,  wondering  where  I  was. 

"Hev  a  little  something?"  he  says,  reaching  for 
a  jug. 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        317 

"Not  by  a  damn  sight !"  I  says,  and  I  went  on  out 
through  the  front  door. 

I  cut  straight  as  I  could  for  the  river  bank  and 
kneeling  down  in  the  shade  of  a  big  warehouse, 
drank  till  I  thought  I'd  bust.  Then  I  crawled  up 
and  layed  down  in  the  shade,  too  sick  to  care  what 
was  going  on. 

It  was  nigh  sundown  when  I  sat  up  and  went 
down  to  the  water  to  drink  again.  I  slipped  out  of 
my  clothes  and  into  the  river.  How  good  and  clean 
it  felt!  I  washed  me  with  sand  from  the  bank. 
When  I  come  to  scrub  my  hands  I  caught  my  breath 
like  somebody  had  hit  me  in  the  stomach.  My  ring 
was  gone ! 

I  waded  out  and  took  up  my  clothes.  Every 
pocket  was  empty.  "Twice  in  two  weeks,"  I  says 
aloud.  "Twice  in  two  weeks ;  and  in  the  land  where 
there's  law  and  religion."  And  I  knowed  they'd 
done  it  oftener,  mebby  if  I  hadn't  been  in  bed  most 
of  the  time. 

I  dressed  and  sat  down  and  thought  it  out.  I 
hadn't  wanted  to  go  back,  but  everything  connived 
to  make  me  go.  I'd  tried  to  keep  away  from  it,  hard 
as  any  man  ever  tried;  but  it  wa'n't  any  use.  I'd 
go  back.  And  once  I  made  up  my  mind  I  felt  bet- 
ter— as  though  I  could  have  cured  myse'f  of  a  sick- 
ness any  time  I  had  minded  to.  I  got  up  and  lit  out 
for  Shipman  and  Company's  store.  "Give  me  my 
clothes  and  my  rifle/  I  says,  breathless,  "an'  five 
hundred  dollars." 

Mr.  Shipman  handed  them  out,  and  the  money. 
"Going  back  up  the  river?"  he  asked,  smiling. 

"Yes,  sir,"  I  says,  "I  reckon  I  am."  And  I  went 
out  and  down  to  the  warehouse  again  to  change  my 
clothes. 


S18        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

It  didn't  take  long,  I  can  tell  you.  And  when  I 
threw  the  coat  and  pants  and  vest  and  boots  into 
the  river,  "Keep  out  of  the  shadows,"  I  told  them, 
feeling  better'n  I  had  in  a  month.  "Keep  close  to- 
gether, an'  mebby  you'll  find  more  law.  I'm  goin' 
back  where  there  ain't  any !" 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 

I  bought  the  best  hoss  I  could  find,  and  next 
morning  dickered  for  two  good  pack-hosses,  besides. 
Then  I  went  back  to  the  store  and  bought  all  they 
could  carry  of  goods  and  presents  and  powder  and 
lead.  I  drew  out  what  money  was  left,  and  by  sun- 
down I  was  ready  to  go. 

I  found  Alex  and  Jake  and  camped  with  them 
that  night,  so  that  we  started  early  for  Fort  Lisa; 
where  after  more  than  twenty  days'  traveling,  I  left 
them,  to  go  it  alone.  I  lightened  packs  a  little  there, 
and  at  a  profit,  and  rested  a  week  before  I  set  out 
to  try  to  get  to  the  Marias  and  find  the  Crees. 

I  traveled  early  and  late.  The  nearer  I  got  to  the 
mouth  of  the  Yellowstone,  the  faster  I  wanted  to  go, 
till  both  myse'f  and  the  hosses  was  plumb  wore  out. 
I  knowed  I  was  in  bad  Injin  country,  but  I  couldn't 
go  any  farther.  I  had  to  sleep  and  rest  my  stock. 

It  was  on  the  Little  Missouri  that  I  hid  away  in 
a  snug  grove  of  young  quaking  aspens,  with  here 
and  there  a  cottonwood.  I  had  only  rested  three 
times  for  a  day  and  a  night,  and  my  hosses  was 
skin  and  bone.  Here  the  grass  was  good,  and  I 
staked  them  out  where  they  could  be  close  in,  and 
made  me  a  bed.  When  I  waked  the  hosses  had 
cleaned  up  the  grass  around  them,  so  I  got  up  and 
moved  to  a  new  place.  I  couldn't  keep  awake,  now 
I'd  let  go,  though  I  knowed  I  was  taking  a  big 
chance  when  I  layed  down  again. 

I  moved  the  hosses  and  packs  three  times,  and  for 
three  days  slept  most  of  the  time,  feeling  somehow 
surer  and  surer  that  I  was  safe.  One  afternoon 

319 


320        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

when  it  was  hot  as  all  time,  the  plains  blistering, 
not  a  breath  of  air  stirring,  and  not  a  speck  in  the 
sky,  my  saddle-hoss  suddenly  snorted  and  pricked 
his  ears.  I  was  up  and  had  my  rifle  cocked  quicker'n 
a  wink.  I  couldn't  see  nor  hear  a  thing,  but  I 
knowed  I  was  in  for  it,  and  my  knees  went  weak  a 
little  when  I  thought  what  a  fool  I'd  been.  The 
sweat  prickled  out  on  my  face,  and  I  turned  around. 

"Don't  be  foolish,  man." 

English!  A  man's  voice.  And  in  a  clump  of 
bushes  I  saw  a  black  face  with  a  great  nose  mashed 
and  scarred.  God !  what  a  face. 

"Ha,  ha,  ha !  I  ain't  much  shakes  for  beauty,  be 
I?"  His  laugh  made  shivers  run  up  and  down  my 
back.  I  was  glued  to  the  spot. 

"Don't  ye  make  any  bad  motions,"  he  says,  get- 
ting up  on  his  knees.  "The  Crows  is  all  around  ye. 
They've  got  yer  hosses  already,  an'  they'll  take  yer 
hair,  too,  if  ye  ain't  mighty  keerful."  He  stood  up, 
a  giant  of  a  man,  coming  towards  me,  his  sullen 
eyes  fixed  on  mine  like  a  snake's.  "Put  down  yer 
rifle.  I'm  Rose,"  he  said,  "an'  I'm  Chief  of  the 
Crow-people;  Edwin  Rose." 

I  lowered  my  gun.  I  knowed  they  had  me,  though 
mebby  there'd  be  some  way  out.  I  could  have  killed 
him  easy;  but  I  knowed  the  brush  was  alive  with 
Crows  and  that  I'd  die  with  him. 

"I  reckon  you  got  me,  Rose,"  I  says,  as  calm  as  I 
could.  "What  do  you  want?" 

He  laughed  again,  and  I'd  rather  have  heered 
him  cuss. 

"Yes,"  he  says,  "easy,  easy !  But  where's  the  rest 
of  yer  outfit.  Who's  with  ye?" 

"I'm  plumb  alone,"  I  told  him. 

He  sat  down,  and  I  did.    I  couldn't  do  anything 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        321 

else,  and  I  knowed  it.  "I'm  trying  to  get  to  the 
Crees,"  I  says.  "They  are  my  friends,  and  I  want  to 
get  back  to  them.  I'm  plumb  wore  out. 

"Crees,  hey?" 

I  thought  I  saw  scheming  quicken  his  dull  eyes. 
He  spoke  loud  in  Crow  to  some  In j ins  that  had 
closed  in  on  my  camp  and  they  sat  down  where  they 
was.  One  of  them  had  my  saddle-horse.  Rose  filled 
his  pipe  and  struck  a  light  with  his  flint  and  steel. 
Then,  like  we  was  old  friends,  he  passed  his  pipe  to 
me.  I  knowed  my  life  was  safe  then,  though  I 
wa'n't  sure  what  he'd  do  with  me. 

"The  Crees  are  enemies  of  the  Blackfeet,  an'  so 
are  we,"  he  said,  taking  back  the  pipe.  "Give  us 
some  powder  an*  lead  an*  I'll  let  ye  go.  But  don't 
sleep  no  more." 

I  remembered  what  Dad  had  said  of  Rose.  "Nez 
Coup,"  he  called  him.  Likely  he  figured  I'd  he'p 
hold  the  Crees  friendly  to  him.  I  took  his  hand  and 
shook  it.  "I'll  give  you  half  I  got,"  I  told  him,  "and 
if  after  I  get  to  the  Crees,  you  ever  need  me,  I'll 
he'p  you,  if  I  can." 

He  didn't  answer  nor  speak  for  nigh  a  minute. 
Then  he  says,  "Git  the  powder  and  lead.  They 
won't  bother  ye.  Then  you  git  out  of  this  country." 

"I'm  going  to,"  I  said  "But  do  you  know  where 
I'm  likely  to  find  the  Crees  now?" 

"Up,  'way  up  the  Marias,"  he  told  me.  "Remem- 
ber, don't  sleep,  keep  traveling,"  he  says. 

I  give  him  four  kegs  of  powder  and  half  my  lead. 

"If  the  Blackfeet  ketch  ye  they  won't  treat  ye  as 
I  do,"  he  says,  like  he  was  half -sorry  he'd  smoked 
with  me. 

But  I  hustled  up  and  packed  so  I  could  travel  with 
them  as  long  as  they  went  my  way,  for  I  knowed 


322        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

that  after  making  peace  the  way  they  did  they 
would  stay  friendly  while  I  was  with  them,  anyway. 
They  was  bigger  and  taller  than  the  Crees,  I 
thought,  and  some  of  them  was  fat.  All  rode  fine 
hosses  and  all  had  good  weapons — bows  and  quite 
a  few  guns.  Before  sundown  they  turned  off  south, 
and  I  left  them,  to  go  it  alone. 

As  soon  as  they  was  out  of  sight  I  tailed  up  my 
hosses  and  lit  out  as  fast  as  I  could  go,  tickled  nigh 
to  death  to  be  alive. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX 

I  was  rested  and  my  hosses  feeling  a  heap  better : 
so  I  kept  on  till  I  come  to  a  little  stream  that 
emptied  into  the  Missouri,  where  I  camped.  I  didn't 
make  a  fire  but  ate  a  cold  snack  of  dried  meat.  The 
night  was  sultry  and  hot,  and  the  buffalo-gnats 
mighty  nigh  drove  the  hosses  crazy,  and  me  too. 
They  was  thick  in  the  air  and  I  could  hear  them 
hum  the  night  through,  and  twice  breathed  them 
into  my  lungs.  "No-seeums,"  the  In j ins  call  them. 
I  reckon  nothing  that  lives  is  worse,  or  harder  to 
get  along  with.  I'd  have  gone  on,  only  I  knowed 
that  I'd  have  to  save  my  hosses  more  and  more  now, 
for  I  might  be  jumped  any  minute  and  have  to  make 
a  run  for  it.  I  couldn't  have  slept  if  I'd  wanted  to. 
I  sat  out  where  I  could  see  over  the  plains  and  along 
the  willows  and  brush  up  and  down  the  creek. 
Wolves  fooled  me  more  than  once,  slipping  along 
the  brush  like  shadows,  and  towards  morning  a 
band  of  antelope  like  to  run  over  me.  If  I  could 
only  make  the  Ashley-Henry  Post,  I'd  rest — for  a 
whole  week,  before  I  went  on. 

I  knowed  that  when  the  sun  got  up  it  would  be 
hotter'n  all  time,  so  I  was  traveling  before  day- 
light, and  kept  a  good  gait  for  a  long  spell.  I  had 
been  cutting  across  the  country  like  we  had  done 
before,  to  save  time,  and  by  four  o'clock  made  out 
by  the  trees  where  the  Missouri  and  the  Yellow- 
stone come  together.  I  knowed  I  could  make  it  by 
sundown.  It  was  worth  trying,  because  once  inside 
the  stockade  I  could  sleep  and  rest  the  hosses.  I 
got  on  and  whipped  up,  though  I  knowed  it  was 

323 


324        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

hard  on  them,  telling  myse'f  it  was  right  to  hurry 
when  I  knowed  it  wa'n't,  for  I  was  so  wore  out  I 
wa'n't  myse'f. 

I  strained  my  eyes  on  the  spot  where  I  remem- 
bered the  Post  was,  till  the  tears  come.  Nobody  was 
in  sight.  I  knowed  my  outfit  would  look  small  and 
no-account,  but  somebody  would  meet  me ;  somebody 
would  know  I  was  white  and  ride  out  to  say  a 
"howdy."  I  was  sure  of  it. 

Directly  I  passed  the  spot  where  they'd  met  up 
with  us  before,  and  right  then  a  dread  layed  hold 
of  me  that  was  hard  and  cold  as  ice.  I  tried  to 
shake  it  off.  "They're  busy,  likely,"  I  says.  But 
my  feelings  was  hurt.  I'd  figured  on  being  met  up 
with,  and  for  more'n  a  month  it  had  seemed  like  a 
big  gobbler  at  a  turkey-shoot — something  worth 
while  to  win.  I  didn't  slow  down.  I  couldn't.  I 
was  shaky  all  over,  and  hungry  for  cooked  meat. 
Mebby  they  took  me  for  an  Injin.  I  reckoned  that 
was  it. 

Directly  I  could  see  the  mouth  of  the  Yellowstone. 
There  was  the  old  cottonwood  snag  with  the  goose- 
nest  on  it,  and  the  square-topped  knoll,  and  the  yel- 
low bank.  But  where  was  the  Post?  Where  was 
the  people? 

I  got  down  off  my  hoss  and  run  up  a  little  knoll 
to  look.  The  Post  was  gone!  Plumb  gone!  Only 
a  part  of  the  stockade  was  standing  and  even  that 
was  black  and  charred  by  fire.  The  Blackfeet,  or 
mebby  Nez  Coup  and  his  Crows,  had  burned  it. 
There  wa'n't  any  Post ! 

It  was  a  gut-shot.  I  sat  down,  plumb  wore  out, 
and  sick,  with  a  misery  that  a  man  hates  to  own 
up  to  knowing.  I  was  scared  and  homesick  and 
lonesome — all  in  one,  and  mighty  bad.  Sweat 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        325 

prickled  out  all  over  me.  Then  a  wild  goose  gonked 
down  on  the  water,  and  I  got  hold  of  myse'f  to 
think.  He  could  take  care  of  himse'f ,  and  I  could. 
I  went  back  to  my  hosses.  One  of  them  was  laying 
down  with  his  pack,  all  sweaty  and  weak.  I  got 
him  up,  feeling  plumb  ashamed  of  myse'f,  and 
mighty  soon  found  a  place  to  hide  and  rest  up. 

I  knowed  I  wouldn't  get  any  more  sleep  than  a 
rabbit  staked  to  an  ant-hill;  but  just  as  soon  as  I 
did  know  it  I  cooled  off  and  begun  to  figure.  I'd 
crossed  the  Missouri  where  we  had  crossed  it  with 
Mike  Fink,  and  I  wouldn't  go  back.  I'd  cross  the 
Yellowstone  and  then  cut  the  country  till  I  struck 
the  Missouri  again.  When  I  did  strike  it,  I'd 
cross  it. 

I  had  a  time  fording  the  Yellowstone;  keeping 
my  packs  dry  and  safe,  but  after  three  days'  rest  I 
made  it,  and  lit  out.  More  than  once  I  was  sorry 
for  leaving  the  Missouri,  and  thought  sometimes 
I'd  never  reach  it  again.  But  I  did,  and  crossed  it, 
easy. 

I  hadn't  built  a  decent  fire  in  more'n  a  month, 
and  was  so  plumb  tired  of  half-roasted  sage-hens 
that  I'd  have  given  a  heap  for  a  buffalo-steak.  But 
I  daren't  kill  anything  with  my  rifle.  I  got  my  sage- 
hens  with  rocks,  and  more  than  once  weakened  and 
didn't  cook  them  after  I'd  killed  them. 

When  I  crossed  the  Missouri  I  begun  to  hide  out 
all  day  and  travel  all  night.  It  was  cooler  and  safer 
and  my  hosses  even  picked  up  a  little,  though  their 
feet  was  mighty  sore.  I  reckoned  that  if  I  could 
only  get  to  the  Crees  I'd  turn  them  into  the  pony 
band  and  just  let  them  feed  up  and  rest  till  they 
died. 

The  nearer  I  got  to  the  Marias  the  more  scared  I 


326        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

was  that  I'd  never  make  it.  I  hadn't  slept  five  hours 
in  more'n  a  week,  and  nigh  anything  would  make 
me  jump  and  prickle.  Once  just  at  sunup  signal 
smoke  made  me  hide  away  mighty  quick.  Twice  I 
found  where  buffalo  had  been  fresh-killed,  and  one 
time  I  got  some  meat  that  was  left,  but  only  a  little. 
My  moccasins,  the  last  I  had,  was  playing  out,  for 
I'd  walked  a  heap  to  keep  my  hoss  rested.  I  never 
knowed  when  I'd  need  all  that  was  in  him,  and  I 
saved  him  what  I  could. 

Passing  in  sight  of  the  Little  Mountains,  blue  in 
the  sunset  light,  I  run  onto  fresh  Injin  sign  in  a 
cottonwood  grove.  A  big  village  had  been  there  and 
had  moved  on  down  the  stream,  so  that  I  figured  I'd 
passed  them  without  knowing  it. 

The  nights  had  been  getting  cooler  for  a  long 
spell,  and  the  grass  on  the  plains  was  dry'  now. 
Signs  of  fall  was  on  every  bush;  and  by  the  time  I 
come  to  the  Marias  the  leaves  on  the  quaking  aspens 
had  turned  yellow  and  gold. 

Our  stockade  was  gone — burned  up,  with  only  a 
charred  log  left  here  and  there.  I  had  figured  on 
that,  so  it  wa'n't  a  surprise  to  me  like  the  other  had 
been.  It  was  getting  daylight  when  I  come  onto  it, 
so  I  hid  away  nigh  half  a  mile  up  the  Marias  and 
waited  for  night  to  close  in  again.  I  didn't  intend 
to  move  early,  nohow,  so  when  dark  fell  I  slipped 
over  to  where  Dad  and  Bill  was  resting  and  sat 
down.  It  was  a  chill  night,  and  no  moon,  but  the 
sky  was  plumb  peppered  with  stars,  like  I'd  seen 
it  many  a  time  before;  and  sitting  there  I  felt  like 
I  was  back  with  home-folks. 

"Dad,"  I  says  out  loud,  like  he  could  hear  me,  "I 
been  down  yonder  for  a  spell,  and  I  reckon  I've 
come  back  here  to  stay.  I  remember  all  you  said; 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        327 

but  it's  a  heap  better  here  than  in  the  lower  coun- 
try, and  I've  come  back.  I've  got  your  rifle,  Dad. 
I  kep'  it,"  I  says,  "an'  always  will.  I'm  plumb  tired 
and  off  my  feed  and  fretting,  like,  but  I  don't  aim 
to  go  away  any  more,  Dad.  I'll  come  to  see  you 
again,  some  day,  if  they  don't  get  me — and  Bill,"  I 
says,  feeling  like  I'd  forgot  and  left  him  plumb  out. 

I  mighty  nigh  let  go,  I  was  so  wore  out;  but  I 
held  onto  myse'f  and  went  back  where  my  camp 
was  hid  to  pack  up  and  light  out  again. 

I  didn't  ride  a  step,  though  my  feet  was  nigh 
bare,  so  that  I  flinched  when  I  set  them  on  sharp 
stones.  I  made  out  to  keep  at  it  right  steady  for 
three  nights,  feeling  sure  that  luck  was  with  me, 
but  being  half  afraid  to  let  on  that  I  knowed  it,  for 
fear  it  would  quit.  On  the  fourth  morning,  and 
just  when  I'd  begun  to  look  for  a  place  to  hide  for 
the  day,  I  saw  a  hoss. 

I  turned  into  the  brush  quick,  unpacked,  and  tied 
up  the  stock.  Then  I  set  out  to  see  how  bad  a  fix 
I  was  in.  Goodness  knows,  I'd  been  hoping  to  see 
hosses,  but  it  made  a  heap  of  difference  who  owned 
them.  I  slipped  up  a  coulee  till  I  come  to  a  knoll 
high  enough  to  he'p  me  look  around,  and  climbed  it. 
There,  not  two  miles  away,  was  a  pony  band,  hun- 
dreds of  hosses.  I  plumb  had  to  know  who  they 
belonged  to.  I  layed  there  flat  on  my  belly  till  nigh 
noon,  when  I  saw  two  Injins  coming  towards  me, 
riding  slow.  Figuring  that  if  they  come  on  they'd 
see  me,  and  that  I  could  slip  back  and  down  the 
coulee,  and  mebby  get  into  the  brush,  I  was  about 
to  move,  when  here  come  four  more.  I  begun  to 
wonder  if  I'd  been  seen,  and  if  they  was  out  to 
jump  me.  I  slid  back  out  of  sight,  but  just  as  I 


328        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

a  band  of  antelope  off  to  my  left  a  little.  My 
breath  come  easier.  They  was  out  to  kill  antelope, 
and  was  getting  the  wind  of  them,  likely.  I  poked 
my  head  back  up  over  the  knoll.  In  a  minute  I 
knowed  they  was  Crees.  My  heart  skipped  a  beat, 
I  was  so  glad. 

First  I  thought  I'd  stand  up  and  call;  but  I 
didn't;  I  let  them  go  on.  And  I  run  down  that  lit- 
tle coulee,  talking  to  myse'f  and  laughing  like  I  was 
plumb  crazy.  I  got  the  packs  back  on  quick  as  I 
could,  though  my  fingers  fumbled,  and  headed 
across  a  big  bend  the  Marias  made.  I'd  seen  it 
from  the  knoll,  and  figured  the  village  was  there 
behind  the  hill. 

Directly  I  saw  a  scout  stand  up  on  the  hilltop. 
He  would  signal  the  village.  I'd  stop  him.  I 
waved  my  rifle  and  hollered;  but  he  swung  a  buf- 
falo robe  in  a  circle  over  his  head,  and  before  I 
could  cut  loose,  disappeared.  It  would  set  men  to 
running  for  their  hosses.  I  tugged  hard  at  the 
lead-rope,  nigh  dragging  the  packs  to  the  top  of  the 
hill.  There  I  saw  them — more'n  a  hundred  big 
lodges,  sleek  and  smooth  in  the  sunlight,  beside  the 
Marias. 

I  could  see  men  mounting  war-hosses  and  women 
running  about  the  lodges.  I'd  stop  the  fuss.  I 
commenced  to  sing  a  Cree  song — a  love  song,  riding 
down  the  hill  and  looking  at  the  village  like  it  was 
my  home  and  I'd  been  gone  too  long. 

The  fussing  stopped,  and  a  drum  begun  to  beat. 
They  knowed  me !  Voices  took  up  the  song  till  half 
the  village  was  singing.  Wore  out  as  I  was  I  felt 
my  heart  jump  and  get  light  inside  me.  They  was 
coming  to  meet  me — Mac,  good  old  Mac,  was  com- 
ing !  I  snatched  off  my  head-silk  and  waved  it,  my 


LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER        329 

heels  pounding  my  boss's  sides.  He  was  bare- 
headed, the  wind  ruffling  his  hair ;  and  he  was  laugh- 
ing— laughing  as  a  child  laughs  that  is  nigh  to 
tears,  when  we  met  up. 

"Oh,  Lone  Wolf!"  be  cried,  throwing  his  arms 
'round  my  waist  like  he'd  lift  me  down.  "I  thought 
that  I  had  lost  you.  My  heart  was  on  the  ground !" 

Yellow  Bear,  his  good  face  smiling  his  gladness, 
struck  his  deep  chest  with  his  fist.  "Ho!  Lone 
Wolf,  brother !"  he  cried.  "My  heart  is  big  with  the 
joy  of  your  coming."  He  took  the  lead-rope  from 
my  hand  to  walk  into  the  village  beside  my  boss. 
"See,"  he  pointed,  "Red  Robe  is  waiting  at  his  lodge 
door  to  give  you  welcome." 

He  was !  And  Bluebird,  and  all  the  family,  nigh 
the  open  door.  Her  lips  was  smiling  and  I  thought 
her  eyes  looked  glad. 

"Lone  Wolf !  Lone  Wolf !"  Men  called  my  name, 
laughing  happy,  and  women  moving  with  them  fol- 
lowed us  to  Red  Robe's  lodge,  where  I  stopped  and 
held  up  my  hand. 

"Hear,  all  the  people!"  I  says,  my  heart  filled 
with  pride.  "From  this  day  on  forever  Lone  Wolf 
isaCree!" 

To-tum,  to-tum,  to-tum,  a  drum  begun  to  beat 
again,  and  some  young  men  sang  of  hunting. 

I  got  down,  from  my  boss. 

"I  have  not  lied,"  I  said  to  Red  Robe.  "The 
month  of  roses  has  not  passed  a  second  time  since  I 
went  away.  And  now  I  have  come  back  for  your 
daughter;  for  Bluebird,  my  woman." 

Then  I  looked  at  her,  and  her  eyes  was  waiting. 
They  couldn't  lie.  They  was  full  of  soft,  unspoken 
words.  I  wondered  how  I  could  have  left  her.  I 
heered  Red  Robe  talking.  "Shall  you  pitch  your 


330        LIGE  MOUNTS:  FREE  TRAPPER 

lodge  with  us,  her  people,  or  shall  you  leave  us, 
Lone  Wolf?" 

"Wherever  you  go,  there  I  will  go,  Red  Robe,"  I 
told  him,  and  heered  the  people  murmur,  "Mee- 
wah-sin." 

"Ho!  my  son,"  he  said. 

Then,  gentle  as  a  woman,  he  put  Bluebird's  hand 
in  mine,  and  turned  away. 

And  Mac,  good  Mac,  to  he'p  us,  pulled  a  robe 
from  my  saddle  and  tossed  it  over  her  head  and 
mine. 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


AU6rt%li|.« 
3-LD- 


4W- 


LD  21A-60m-4,'64 
(E4555slO)476B 


General  Library 

University  of  California 

Berkeley 


VC  46502 


